


Recovery

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon the advice of a pandaren healer, Anduin Wrynn moves to the Tavern in the Mists while recovering from his injuries. Although at first hoping to contribute to the Alliance campaign by investigating a particular black dragon, he soon grows more interested in the Son of Deathwing than he ever intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Anduin is cis and Wrathion is trans. 
> 
> Warning for references to body dysphoria, physical injury, and one mention of (unconscious) self harm.

Anduin had been confined to his room for only a few weeks, but to him, it felt like an eternity. He was torn between the pain that shot up his leg every time he tried to get out of bed and the jittery need to move, to go somewhere, to _do something._ Staying still was almost as challenging as the recovery itself, and in both respects, he’d had enough.

He glanced at the stack of books on his nightstand. Someone had generously traveled back to Stormwind to bring him a few of his favorites, but he had read through them several times even before they arrived at Lion’s Landing, and now they were mostly gathering dust. It was hard to focus on the sentinels and their long vigil or Sir Eglar slaying the dragon when he knew that an actual battle raged just beyond his walls. Every time he heard the bombs exploding in the sand or the rush of gryphons passing his window on their way to the front, he couldn’t shake his overwhelming need to contribute. But what? What could he do here?

He had taken to studying; it was the only way to calm his impulse to action. Across his lap, he had spread _A Common Primer on the Orcish Language_ (it had been no small feat, convincing his father he needed that one) and an even smaller manual on Orcish history he was trying to work through with the glossary. He felt like there was so much to learn, but the orcs weren’t exactly keen on writing things down, and with his secondhand knowledge of the language it was becoming increasingly difficult to follow the stories. But at least it was a distraction, and a distraction was–

As if on cue, there was a faint rapping at the door. Anduin sat up a little straighter, closing his books and setting them down on the mattress beside him. “Come in!” He chirped, excited for any visitor after several hours on his own. The door cracked open; he wasn’t disappointed by the blue-skinned face that greeted him.

“Mishka!” He grinned. It had been almost a week since he had seen her. Since his recovery had started to slow, he had been meeting primarily with trainees; they had checked his cast, fluffed his pillows, and much to his embarrassment, pelted him with question after question about his comfort level and the reoccurrence of certain nightmares he’d rather not discuss. After that, a familiar face like Mishka’s was a welcome sight. He waved her in. She bowed, and then stepped over the threshold. 

“Your Highness, you are looking much better. I’m glad ze students have been treating you vell,” she flashed a friendly smile. The light spilling down from between his curtains shone against the corner of her glasses. With her cheerful greeting, it was hard to tell her that he’d rather _not_ be waited on by anymore of her medics-in-training. He only managed to nod weakly in response.

“It’s a good day today for you, ‘zough, your Highness,” she nodded as she made her way over to the bed, removing her bloodstained gloves and tucking them into her belt. She waited for his nod of approval, and then splayed her fingers across the top of his cast. “Today ze cast comes off and ve can see how tings are progressing down ‘zere. And no more sponge bat’s, I promise.” She laughed softly; he could feel the color rising to his cheeks.

Oh, the sponge baths had been the worst. As much as it had been nice to have some company for a few minutes, having a stranger take off his clothes and rub his chest with a wet wad of cloth wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. It had been awkward at best, and once or twice Mishka had sent this night elf who he just…couldn’t quite sit still for, for a number of reasons. His face felt hot at the very memory of it. Formality aside, he had been forced to argue for his privacy before things got out of hand. 

He squirmed back into his pillow, but Mishka didn’t seem to notice, occupied as she was with cutting off his cast. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration as she slid some kind of small handsaw in a line down the inside of his calf. It let out a low hum; with every turn of its wheel, Anduin could feel the scratchy material finally releasing its grip around his skin. A faint breeze chilled the sweat that had collected beneath it. Anduin relaxed against the pillow, grateful for release from this plaster prison, praying silently that all would go as planned and he’d never have to put a cast on this leg again. 

Mishka seemed to read the anticipation on his face, regarding him with a hopeful smile. “Ve vill see how you’re valking and, if tings don’t look right, I’ve brought a local medic in for consultation. Ve can explore ot’er options; I don’t ‘sink ve vill be needing to replace the cast or anyting like ‘zat, your Highness…”

He returned the medic’s grin, a wave of gratitude washing over him as he watched her tear away the last few inches of the cast and peel it off his leg. He looked down at his newly-exposed skin. It looked old and grey, flaking like ash on a log as Mishka worked a cloth between his toes and up around his ankle. He wrinkled his nose, torn between disgust and concern. “That’s, uh…” He mumbled. “Sorry about that, Mishka.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s my job, is it not? ‘Zats how ‘zese tings go!” But he was unconvinced, turning his head to hide his embarrassment and the look of aversion creeping in to his eyes. 

He thumbed idly at the corner of his _Orcish Primer_ to keep himself distracted. Was the ‘-u’ ending for verbs a mark of command or acquiescence? It had to be the latter, he decided. He was pretty sure commands ended in ‘-e,’ but then there were the irregular verbs…

His distraction worked a bit _too_ well, and it wasn’t until Mishka gave his knee an expectant pat that he realized she was addressing him. He looked up. She was peering at him over the rim of her glasses, a hesitant smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Your Highness, I need you to try valking for me. It might be difficult at first, but…”

Walking? Once he had heard her, he didn’t need to be prompted again. He had waited for this moment for weeks– the chance to come and go as he pleased, to walk to the bathroom without help, to bathe himself again– and he could barely wait to get both feet on the ground. But as he tried to swing his foot down from the mattress, something felt…off. He couldn’t roll his ankle, and everything below the knee felt like dead weight. But Mishka had mentioned it might be difficult at first, right? He couldn’t let this deter–

He realized his foot was on the ground, but he could barely feel it. He tried to rise, but as soon as he put his weight on it, he stumbled back on to the mattress. He groaned in spite of himself. He could feel Mishka eyeing him nervously. 

“Don’t vorry yet, your Highness. Just let me retrieve ze o’zer healer, and togezer ve can figure ‘zis out.” She quickly bowed out of the room; he could hear her hooves clambering against the wooden floor as she hurried down the hallway outside. 

Pressing his face against the mattress, he drew in a few, shaky breaths. Mishka had mentioned complications, but with the way she scurried out of the room, this had to be more severe than she had expected. He could feel his stomach twisting into knots. 

He struggled to pull himself back onto the bed, hoping to regain some measure of dignity after his unceremonious fall. His leg felt both heavy and absent in a way he couldn’t quite explain; he had to reach down and pull it back up onto the bed like some sack full of tools. It didn’t feel like his body. He stared down at it, ashen and withered as it was; he had to bite his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. 

When he first fell, one of the medics that arrived at the scene mentioned amputation. Now he almost felt as if his leg had been removed back then, cut off and burned and replaced by something new and entirely foreign. He regarded it with a suspicious stare; he tried to flex his toe, but it refused to comply, like an insubordinate sentry flashing him a sneer of defiance. He scowled back at it; his heart plummeted. 

Gazing beyond his foot, Anduin saw his door cracking open. “I’ve brought ze o’zer healer, your Highness,” Mishka called to him, though the chirp in her voice was gone. She sounded serious, somewhat strained. “Permission to enter?” 

Anduin couldn’t help but hug his arms to his chest. “Yes, of course, Mishka, come in,” he replied in a small voice. He struggled to remember his lessons on poise, reluctant to burden his guest with the mix of fear and frustration churning in his chest. But it was difficult to put on a brave face, more difficult than it had been when staring down Garrosh: at least then he had had the rush of adrenaline and overwhelming joy of triumph on his side, but now he felt cold and alone, stranded in his bedchamber with only his worries to haunt him. He tried to keep it together but couldn’t quite muster a smile. 

The draenei slipped in through the door, followed by a small pandaren woman with her hair done up in buns. She bowed slightly to Anduin, and he returned her nod, pressing his back against his headboard and waiting to see what she would do. Setting down a bag on the floor beside the bed, she reached into it and produced a star-tipped wooden rod with balls at each of its ends, holding it up for him to look at. He had never seen anything like it, and, he had to admit, he was curious. He felt his shoulders starting to relax; the healer exuded a confidence that set his mind at ease, and he suddenly found it easier to smile.

Mishka pulled over a chair from his desk and sat down at the pandaren’s other side, gesturing to his ankle. “It doesn’t seem to be holding any veight,” she murmured. Anduin saw her touch him beneath the knobby bone, but failed to feel her finger pressing against his skin. The color drained from his cheeks; his lips suddenly felt heavy. “Do you tink it’s nerve damage, or…?”

“We will see,” the pandaren’s expression remained placid. She clutched the strange tool in her hand. “Your Highness, I need to check the channels in your leg. Please tell me if you feel any pressure or pain.”

“I…” His confidence waning with every mention of the lack of feeling beneath his knee, he found it difficult to nod. “I-I will, if I feel anything…”

“Good.”

With that, she pressed one knobbed end of her tool firmly into the side of his knee. He let out a small cry as a tingling sensation spread from the point of contact to the inside of his thigh, burning ever-so-slightly. She moved down a few inches, trying again. The feeling was the same, prickly and heavy, extending its energy in branches that wove in and out of his muscles and joints. He even swore he could feel it reaching into his belly, but that seemed…impossible, given what he thought he knew about the body. But he decided to ignore his questions, grateful to, at least, be feeling something, even if it was uncomfortable and strange.

That relief ceased, however, as she moved down to press a third time. He saw it happen, but felt little more than a brush against his skin. She pushed again; it seemed to be happening in slow motion, or to someone else. He bit his lip and met her expectant eyes with disappointment: “No, nothing…”

She rubbed her furry thumb along the length of his leg between points two and three. The sensation seemed to fade in and out with every swipe of her finger, tingling for a moment and then disappearing, only to tingle again when she moved it back up towards her starting point. “There is a blockage in the path,” she finally concluded, without needing to hear his response. If he weren’t so nervous, he might have even been fascinated.

“A blockage?” Mishka prompted her to continue.

“A blockage. Or some breaks in the path. I believe they will come back together, but only with time, and, perhaps, only partially.”

Mishka spoke up before Anduin had time to dwell on the healer’s words. “Sounds like nerve damage, yes,” she nodded. Anduin’s hands grew clammy as he clutched them together in his lap. “Vat options do you tink ve have?”

“Let’s see…” The pandaren fell silent for a moment. Anduin found himself holding his breath in the gap between her words. “What we really need is time, relaxation, and something to help his joints stay lithe while the streams knit themselves back together. It might be good for him to visit the hot springs in the north for an extended stay. A healer can tend to him there, and the mountain air will lift his spirits and help him rebuild. It’s the best chance he has for making a full recovery.”

“In ze mountains? You mean up by Kun’lai?” Mishka frowned thoughtfully. “He is our king’s son, ‘zough. Do you tink it vil be safe for him up ‘zere…again?”

“I’m sure it’ll be safe.” Anduin tried his best not to sound annoyed. He hated it when people talked about him like he wasn’t there, and it had become all the more frequent since his injury. It was hard enough relying on help to move around his room, but then to be talked over and ignored? Being impaired in one leg didn’t stop him from thinking for himself, for Light’s sake. “Where in the mountains are the hot springs, exactly? Do you think I could find a place to stay?”

Mishka regarded him with a ‘look’ that he pointedly ignored, but the pandaren seemed willing to talk. “There are a few. Several up by the Peak of Serenity, but the most accessible, and comfortable, location is probably the Tavern in the Mist.”

“But that’s–” Mishka started to protest, but Anduin silenced her with a smile.

“Good, we’ll go there.” 

Of course, he knew about the Tavern in the Mist and why Mishka had reacted so quickly to its name. King Varian’s chambers had been full of talk about this tavern for weeks after their arrival in Pandaria. Rumors had spread throughout every hall of the keep about the son of Deathwing and his potential involvement in High Marshal Twinbraid’s slaying, and Anduin had taken special interest in the stories. If he could meet the prince in person and observe him, he might learn something to help the Alliance better understand the dragon’s nature, for good or ill. He felt his spirits starting to lift; if he could get out of this keep, get back to _doing something_ , he knew he would feel better about everything else. He had to get to that inn. 

But as he pushed himself further up on the bed and piled his books back into his lap, Mishka started to shift in her seat. “Your Highness, even vit ze Black Market alone it vould be dangerous, but ‘zen ‘zere’s ze Black Prince, and you know who he is.”

“I know, but Mishka, that’s why I want to go. You know about Katrana Prestor, right?” He trailed off for a moment as he heard her name leaving his mouth, trying to ignore the faint pang in the pit of his stomach. “You know, I knew her, really well. I know what black dragons are like. But this one, Wrathion, they say he’s uncorrupted, Mishka. I can’t help but feel curious about that!”

“But curious is vat got you here, Prince Anduin,” she sighed. “Curious isn’t vat your fazer vill vant to hear from me.”

 _But if I hadn’t been ‘curious,’ think of what Garrosh might have done,_ Anduin wanted to argue, but knew fighting would get him nowhere. His desire to observe the dragon wouldn’t go over well, and the last thing he needed was to make Mishka suspicious. He kept his face as calm as possible. Drawing in a deep breath, he responded with carefully-chosen words. “But if this will help my leg grow stronger, I think my father will understand, right? It’s worth asking.”

The pandaren healer nodded. Mishka pressed her lips into a tight smile. “If you say so, your Highness. But I tink you should be ze vone to explain all tis to him, rather zan me…”

“Of course!” He could feel his cheeks starting to glow. He was getting out, and he might even get to solve a few mysteries in the process. His fears and agitation started to fade into the back of his mind.

No matter what he had to work around in the process, he had found a new way to contribute to their exploration of Pandaria, and, for now, he couldn’t be more pleased.

______________________________

Anduin watched the valley rush beneath his feet, tiny villages flying past in a blur as his gryphon flapped his wings and arced back to gain altitude. Swaying grasses faded into stones and jagged outcroppings along the side of the mountains, and he could feel the wind that rushed against his cheeks getting cooler and wetter with every passing moment. He drew in a breath; the air tasted fresh against his tongue. A wave of gratitude washed over him. He had never felt so pleased to be out of his bedchamber, and that was saying a lot.

Of course, it had taken some convincing. For the first few minutes after Anduin had voiced his proposal to travel north, his father had stared in disbelief. His frown had deepened, and a heavy shadow had passed over his face. Anduin had almost felt guilty, making him worry like that, but the knowledge that he could do something to help their campaign outweighed any regret that lingered in his chest. Luckily, King Varian, more concerned about his recovery than Anduin himself, had finally yielded. 

But it had been another matter entirely to gain permission to travel to this particular tavern. At first, Varian had insisted on the pools near the Peak of Serenity, even if it meant traveling back to the Shrine of the Seven Stars _every night_ to sleep. He had tried everything to dissuade him– from insisting that making the journey every day would put too much strain on his leg (which was a lie: he didn’t feel much of anything, right now) to arguing that a return to Kun-Lai so soon after the incident with Garrosh might exacerbate his nightmares (which was truer than Anduin cared to admit)– and finally, with enough urging, he had won out. 

So here he was, scaling the mountains leading to the Tavern in the Mist: the first Alliance leader to stare Deathwing’s son in the face and find out if any of the rumors about him were true. A triumphant smile crossed his lips: his heart felt as light as the fog disappearing on the breeze. 

It wasn’t long before they swooped over a grassy plateau and past a large structure near the edge of the field. At first, Anduin assumed this was the tavern, judging by the two stern pandaren guards stationed at each door, but quickly realized that, instead, it was the auction house about which Mishka had shown such concern. Glancing in as it rushed past on his left, he decided it didn’t seem _too threatening_. A troll stood at the counter, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for a call from the auctioneer, but otherwise, the house was empty.

Anduin turned his attention to another building nestled against the slope of the mountain; he could barely make out the roof’s silhouette through the fog rolling down its slope. _That must be it, then._ He realized with a start. He was excited, but, faced with the reality of the tavern itself, trepidation started to set in. This would be his third encounter with a black dragon: the first time, he had been manipulated into choices that had cost many of his people their lives, and the second, he had been forced to duck beneath his windowsill with his servant while buildings toppled and people screamed in horror from the streets below. This time he had to be prepared, had to be on his guard, in case the situation ever turned towards destruction. He drew in a deep breath, setting his intention. He would get to the bottom of this, he promised, and never be tricked by them again.

 _But you should also give him a fair chance,_ he reminded himself. _You’re going to be living beside him for a month or more. You can’t start by calling him an enemy!_ Anduin shook his head, trying his best to chase the conflict from his mind. Be on guard, but not suspicious. Careful, but not cold. It was easier said than done, even with the training on compassion he had received as a priest. 

His gryphon’s talons connected with the ground and, as it shuffled through the grass towards the fencing post, he felt his stomach twist into knots. Drawing in a breath of cool, mountain air, he paused and waited for his guards to land and join him by the stairs. He smiled sheepishly as Sandra wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him dismount. Michael was there with his crutches, sliding them under his arms and stepping back to give him his space. It went better than he had expected, and thankfully, his attendants seemed willing to let him try them on his own.

He eyed the steps for a moment, considering a few strategies, and then finally stepping forward onto his uninjured foot to give himself some leverage. Sandra came up behind him but remained silent, her armor squealing at the joints as she did her best to match his pace. He hopped forward; his crutches pressed against the wood. He took another breath, and with it, another step. His arms quivered; he kept his eyes fixed on the doorway and a strange skull mounted over it. Was it a yak? Or…some kind of small dragon? Sweat rolled off his brow in spite of the chill in the air; his crutches clacked, and his chest tightened. 

He had almost made it halfway up when a plump pandaren appeared in the doorway and hurried down to greet him. His beard swayed back and forth as he took the steps two at a time, stopping just before the stair in front of him. “Prince Anduin Wrynn,” he greeted, bowing low. “It is truly an honor to have you stay with us in this meager tavern. Please, follow me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Anduin nodded. The pandaren’s face broke into a smile.

“The pleasure is mine, to have the hero of the Vale and Kun-Lai staying in my humble home. I hope you will find it comfortable and safe, your Majesty. If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

Anduin’s face, already flushed with the strain of the stairs, darkened to a deep red. He opened his mouth to correct the innkeeper’s use of the king’s title, but decided against it, doing his best to accept this generous welcome in stride. “Thank you for letting me stay here. I hope we won’t cause you any trouble.”

“No trouble at all! Nothing is trouble for a hero like you,” the pandaren looked around quickly, and then dropped his voice to a whisper. “But I have to tell you, your Majesty. Our other guests don’t know you’re coming. But this is _not their inn,_ and I will _not_ stand by if they disrespect you. On my honor.”

Anduin had to struggle to keep the concern from his face. “Oh, uh, I’m sure it will be fine.” On the one hand, maybe it was for the best he hadn’t given the dragon the chance to prepare, but, if any of the rumors he had heard about him were true, he wasn’t sure how he was going to take being surprised. Anduin coughed, clutching his crutches a little closer. Behind him, he could feel Sandra and Michael straightening into a stance of attention.

“Just…never hesitate to let me know if they cause you any problems…” Shaking his head one last time, the pandaren turned and gestured towards the door. “But come, come. Night is setting in, and you must be tired from your journey. I have a pot of soup boiling on the fire waiting for your arrival. Please, follow me!”

Doing his best to keep pace with the innkeeper, he forced his way up the last few stairs. He realized at once that he should have asked the pandaren for his name, but when he opened his mouth to call out to him he heard him saying something to an occupant inside.

“We have a special guest, Black Prince,” the pandaren rumbled; Anduin paused just before he reached the top stair, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. “Please welcome him graciously and give him the space he needs.”

“A guest?” Another voice answered, high and excited. “What kind of guest? Are they here to see me?”

“He is here to recover and make use of our hot springs. He will be staying in the room upstairs for the next few weeks, and will probably need his rest.”

Anduin scaled the last step, peering around the pandaren in a futile attempt to catch a glimpse of the other speaker. He could hear the pad of footfalls hurrying around inside. He unconsciously leaned back, glad that Sandra was there to steady him. 

“Well, where is he? Bring him in, and I will see that he receives the welcome he deserves.”

The pandaren heaved a sigh. The rise and fall of his furry back was unmistakable from Anduin’s place on the landing, doing little to settle his mounting nerves. He braced his arms against his crutches; a breath stuck in his throat. 

“I mean it, young prince,” he grumbled, shifting to the left. “Remember, this isn’t your tavern.”

Suddenly, the innkeeper’s black-and-white frame disappeared to the side, leaving the space directly in front of Anduin free of obstructions. The room beyond was dim in the approaching twilight, lit only by a few lamps and a single candle burning on a table. But even in the shadows, two eyes were unmistakable: wide and blazing in shades of crimson like nothing the human had ever seen. When he crossed over the threshold and into the main room of the tavern, he discovered that the eyes belonged to a small-framed man donning gear made of white silk and dragonscales, in a style Anduin didn’t recognize. His skin was a deep shade of chestnut, set off by the warm gold and red of the turban perched on his head. Anduin’s eyes widened; he managed a small bow. “Hello, Prince Wrathion.”

“Prince Anduin Wrynn!” The dragon guessed without need of introduction, responding with a polite bow of his own. As he lifted his head, he seemed to take in every inch of the human’s appearance: his attire, his tabard, and finally, his face. Anduin squirmed beneath his stare, self-conscious for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, but at least the dragon didn’t seem particularly interested in his injury. He offered him an assenting smile; the dragon’s expression remained unchanged.

“I apologize for any inconvenience this might cause you, sir,” he kept his register formal, not really sure what one was supposed to _do_ when greeting the son of his kingdom’s greatest enemy. “I promise we will keep our distance from your dealings and pose no threat to your champions, no matter what faction they represent.”

The Black Prince’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. He waved his hand, taking a few steps in Anduin’s direction. “No need to apologize, my dear prince. There’s nothing to worry about here, I assure you. We’re honored to have you as our guest.”

Anduin felt heat rising to his cheeks in spite of himself. He shifted his weight slightly between his crutches, thankful for an excuse to look down at the ground to get his bearings. When he glanced up again, he found the dragon eyeing him expectantly. Wrathion’s eyes, clearer now that he had closed the gap between them, had slitted pupils, his dragon heritage unmistakable. Anduin wasn’t sure if he should feel charmed, nervous, or…both, which was his automatic response to such an intense greeting. He imagined he wasn’t the first person to feel this way under the Black Prince’s gaze, nor the last, if Sandra’s fussing beside him was any indication.

“I look forward to getting to know you over the next few weeks,” Anduin added, the determination he had felt earlier yielding to pure curiosity. “If you are open to meeting with me.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I look forward to it,” the prince turned to the side, gesturing towards a bench at the table behind them. “Did your father send you? I trust he has received my invitations to the tavern. I sent him another last month, congratulating him on his success in Kun-Lai, though perhaps it should have been addressed to you.”

“Oh, uh–” Invitations? His father had never mentioned invitations, or any contact from the Black Prince whatsoever, for that matter. He was at a loss for words. 

Thankfully, Michael seemed to sense his uncertainty and spoke up, “Your Highness, shall we move your belongings upstairs and get you settled? It has already been a long day…”

Under any other circumstances, this reminder to rest might have bothered him, but right now he was grateful for a distraction from the awkward question. Besides, his shoulder was starting to ache, and the sole of his uninjured foot was feeling the burden of having to carry all of his weight. He nodded slowly, “Maybe we should. I apologize, Prince Wrathion, but perhaps we can speak on this tomorrow?”

“Of course, Prince Anduin,” Wrathion nodded, his face free of judgment. “Take all of the time you need. We will be here,” he opened his arms, “And I can always make time to meet with the Prince of Stormwind.”

He met the prince’s dramatic gesture with a grin, full and genuine. “Thank you for understanding. I look forward to our time together.” And when he turned away and made for the stairs, he was convinced that his words had been sincere. Being in the dragon’s presence left him with a strange feeling: trepidation, to be sure, but also fascination and ease that surprised him given the nature of this person. There was something about him– his charming voice, smooth as wine, or the enthusiastic grace of his hands– that invited communication, and Anduin knew it wouldn’t be long until he indulged him. His desire to learn more about the prince became increasingly personal: their first meeting prompted more questions than it answered.

But for now, Anduin’s thoughts moved towards relieving the strain on his foot. His second venture up the stairs proved more difficult than the first, even with the handrail to support him on one side. Perhaps he was trying to walk too quickly so nobody downstairs saw him struggle, but by the time he made it onto the first landing he was forced to turn to Sandra for support, allowing her to wrap an arm around his waist and help him up the rest of the way. She seemed happy to help, but that didn’t stop him from worrying that he might be putting too much weight on her, ridiculous as that fear, given her size, seemed to be. 

When they arrived in the upper room, he hobbled over to the bed that had been prepared for him and sank down with a sigh. His shoulder and upper back were on fire now, and it was difficult to keep himself upright. “Thank you, Sandra,” he whispered, before resting his head against the pillow. “Don’t worry about unpacking. I can do all of that tomorrow.”

Michael, who had just made it to the top of the stairs with his trunk between his arms, shook his head slightly, but made no move to resist his request. He merely placed it down beside his bed with a careful ‘thump’ and stepped away. “Anything else you need, your Highness?” He watched him over the top of his faceguard.

“Not right now, thank you. I think I might read before bed.” 

They both nodded in unison and made for the other corner of the room, spreading their own bedding across the floor. He hadn’t even thought about where they would sleep, assuming that the tavern would have more than one room, and now he felt a bit sheepish. He fumbled with his pauldrons, wondering whether or not he should offer them something from the bed. Both situations could easily turn awkward, he realized, and that definitely wasn’t the way he wanted to start out their stay together. Maybe he could put in an order for cots from Lion’s Landing? It wasn’t much, but at least–

A few quick taps on the bannister snapped him from his thoughts; he dropped his hand from his pauldrons, leaving them to dangle, only partially unhooked, down the front of his tabard. “Hello?” It was more of a question than a greeting. Sandra jumped to her feet. 

“Prince Anduin,” the Black Prince looked up at him from beneath the railing. Anduin raised his eyebrows slightly. “I have something that might prove useful to you during your stay with us. Do you mind if I come up?”

He glanced over at his guards, waiting for a moment to see if they would stop him (thankfully, they did not), before waving the dragon in. “I was just, uh,” he looked down at the pauldron swinging across his chest, dropping his voice to a mumble, “getting ready for bed. Sorry about that…”

“Nonsense, Prince Anduin. There’s no need to apologize. Please, by all means, make yourself comfortable.”

When Wrathion turned the corner and stepped up onto the landing, the human discovered that the ‘useful’ item he had mentioned was actually a stack of books piled so high they almost reached the tip of his goatee. Anduin’s eyes widened; had he been listening in on their conversation, or was the room really open enough for him to overhear unintentionally? He decided it was the latter. Compared to the cavernous chamber he had called home back in Lion’s Landing, this new bedroom was more of a balcony, with little room for privacy. He was going to have to be more mindful of that in the future. 

The dragon seemed to sense his unease, shifting the books in his arms and hovering near the top of the stairs. “It gets rather boring up here in the mountains, as you will soon discover. Keep these as long as you like: I have little time for reading these days, with so many champions and agents to manage.” He shrugged, but Anduin noticed a hint of hesitation creeping into his voice. “You know, business, and all.”

 _Business?_ Anduin was afraid to ask. He merely nodded, watching as he gestured him closer. “Thank you, Prince Wrathion. I will return them to you as quickly as possible.”

“I’m not too concerned.” There was a shift in the dragon’s tone that Anduin couldn’t quite describe. Something had fallen out– its affect, perhaps, or some of its exorbitant flourish– only to be replaced by a quiet seriousness that was altogether unexpected. “I think Tong’s soup will be finished soon. I’ll make sure he brings yours up to you.”

“Oh, t-thank you, Prince Wrathion.” But Anduin, usually so eager to drop the formalities when meeting new people, wasn’t quite ready to abandon it in the presence of this dragon. It provided him with a shelter, a mask behind which to hide; it strengthened a wall between them that he knew, at least for now, must be maintained. “I am honored by your hospitality.”

“Mh,” the dragon nodded. Finally, after a few wary moments, he stepped forward with the books. Leaning down beside Anduin’s trunk, he placed them in two neat stacks, flexing his gloved fingers once he had freed himself of the burden. Anduin studied them out of the corner of his eye. On top of one stack sat _The Saurok and the Jinyu,_ some kind of pandaren children’s book he had seen in a few of the inns he had visited during his travels. A quick glance at the book spines revealed that many of them were essentially the same: _The General and the Grummle,_ _The Tiller and the Monk,_ and even, to Anduin’s surprise, a book from the northern continents entitled _Aegwynn and the Dragon Hunt._ But it was the other stack, comprised of what seemed to be every book in the _Steamy Romance_ series, that brought a blush to Anduin’s cheeks. The cover at the top depicted two blood elf males wrapped in a passionate embrace. Anduin squirmed beneath the blanket draped over his lap.

What was this dragon playing at? Was he trying to embarrass him?

But one more look at the books told him that he was not. They were well read, to say the least; several had bent edges, and the spine of _The Saurok and the Jinyu_ was white with overuse. There was even a bookmark peeking out of one of the romance novels ( _Savage Passions_ ) hidden halfway down the stack. _He really reads these_ Anduin realized, not knowing what to make of this realization. 

He could feel Wrathion’s expectant eyes studying him as he hovered over the bed, so he cleared the confusion from his face and mustered a grateful look. “These look very interesting. I will certainly enjoy reading them.”

“I hope so. You will see that some are more…interesting than others.” _As if I needed him to tell me that,_ Anduin fought to keep his expression neutral. “If there’s anything else you would like to read, I will have my agents procure it and bring it here. Never hesitate to ask, my dear prince.”

The charm had returned, and with it, a rush of heat to Anduin’s cheeks. He leaned to the right, trying to relieve some of the strain on his left shoulder, and picked up _The Saurok and the Jinyu_ from the top of the stack. “This will be fine for now. Thanks.” He nodded, opening the book at a random place as if to emphasize his point. 

Wrathion nodded, and took a few steps backwards, before turning completely and heading down the stairs. “Sleep well, Prince Anduin,” he said as he passed beside him.

Anduin returned his nod. “And you as well, Prince Wrathion.”

And with that, the dragon was gone– at least, from Anduin’s sight, though he could hear him padding across the floor below– and he was left to his own confusion. What kind of black dragon was he dealing with here? 

Staring down at the creased-page book in his hand, he couldn’t decide how to answer his question.

______________________________

These humans were testing Wrathion’s patience.

He had thought his request was simple– go to the Badlands, record every relevant discovery, and return with a full analysis of the situation– but two of his most highly-trained agents had come back from the venture empty-handed, and now they were subjecting him to a lengthy speech about “shifting sands” and “the remnants of camps that have disappeared.” He didn’t care about the Explorer’s League or whether or not the Horde would rebuild Kargath: All he wanted to know was what exactly the Red Dragonflight had done to him.

Of course, there were memories; they haunted the darkest corners of his mind, surfacing in the haze that passed over him whenever he started to doze off. There was confusion, pain, a feeling of fragmentation, as if his very body was being spread in pieces across the desert. The clearer, more poignant memories of being trapped against his will paled in comparison to those moments of utter despair, in which his entire identity seemed to break down and disappear into the sand, and he needed answers. 

He needed to know the details of his conception, and what _exactly_ the Reds had done to him. And so far, nobody seemed willing to help.

He let out a dramatic sigh, propping his elbow up on the table and leaning his cheek against it. “Yes, I’m sure this Martek fellow had some _fascinating_ stories about my father, but I fail to see how any of this is relevant to me.”

The female rogue standing in front of him lowered her eyes. The male, Reade, Wrathion thought was his name, scrambled to come up with an excuse for their prattling. “We were just getting to that, sir. He said he thought he remembered a gnome setting up camp on the other side of the Scar, and wondered if maybe–” 

“And did you find this gnome? Did you question him?” Wrathion’s eyes narrowed; he pursed his lips in exasperation. 

“No, but–”

“Then tell me again why you came back here without that information? What am I paying you for?”

The two humans paused: The female (Wrathion finally remembered her name: Bria) reached up to remove her mask. “Your Majesty,” she bowed. “We will return to the Badlands on your command, but the Red Dragonflight seems to have cleaned up the entire operation. There’s barely a shred of evidence remaining, and with the shifting of the sands…”

Oh, great. He was going to hear about ‘the sands’ again. He reached for a slice of cheese from the package they had brought back from Stormwind, grateful that they had, at least, carried out one of his orders. He bit down on it and the thick cream beneath the brine melted in his mouth. He flicked his tongue over his teeth, enjoying the strong flavor and a texture that was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. He could feel the rogues waiting for his response, but he took his time, using each bite as a distraction to still his mounting temper. He sipped at his wine.

“If the Red Dragonflight ‘cleaned up,’ as you say,” he focused on Bria, studying her face with a level stare, “why not simply capture a red dragon and question it? Surely that wouldn’t be too much for two _fine_ rogues such as yourselves.”

“That’s–!” Reade sputtered. Beside him, he could feel Left cocking her crossbow. Well, at least he could rely on his bodyguards, even if his agents were less than cooperative. He reached over and spread a glob of cheese atop one of the rolls that had come in the package, leaving them to enforce his decision, for now. 

There was a long pause filled with jostling weapons and the clink of coins in a sack being passed across the table. Bria leaned forward, and, with a bow, scooped up the pouch and tucked it in to her belt. “Yes, your Majesty. We won’t return until the mission is complete.”

“Good. Try for a drake. We wouldn’t want to get _too_ ahead of ourselves.”

“Yes, sir!”

And with that, they turned and exited the building. He nibbled at the corner of the roll in his hands as he watched their backs fade into the mist, wondering briefly if he should call for backup. But this would be an opportunity to put their skills to the test, and, if they failed, he could always order a larger company to follow in their footsteps. He needed weakness among his agents even less than he needed insolence, and so far today he was less than impressed by Bria and Reade’s performance. Well, at least they had remembered to bring the food. 

He glanced into the box, making sure there was enough left for the prince when he returned from the hot springs. Though Wrathion didn’t want it to seem like he had requested food from Stormwind for his benefit, truthfully he had hoped for a conversation-starter, and guessed, given how good it tasted, that he had found it. Over the past few days, he and the Prince of Stormwind had spoken very little: today, he hadn’t seen him until he came down for his bath. He could have gone up to his room and asked for an audience, but he decided that might look desperate, or come off too strong. So instead he had opted for a gift from home, and hoped that it would be accepted.

Wrathion turned his attention back to the map in front of him, dipping his quill in the inkwell and drawing an ‘x’ over New Kargath. It had looked so promising, too, with remnants of a dragon clutch at its doorstep. He glared at it, as if it were to blame for leading them astray. His eyes drifted down to the scar marring the center of the map, and he took a moment to wonder if anything his agents had garnered from this Martek character would prove to be true. He sighed; his hand, as if making the decision for him, dragged the quill over it in a large swipe. This entire search felt like one dead-end after another.

A faint ‘knock-knock’ on the platform out back drew his attention, and he sat up straighter, wiping his quill on the corner of the inkwell and setting it aside. He fixed his eyes on the map, staring for a few moments, and then turned his head when he knew Anduin had entered the room. “Prince Anduin,” he greeted. “I hope you enjoyed the bath.”

“Yes, it was, um, nice,” he let out a small chuckle. “Thank you for asking, Prince Wrathion.” 

He stood at the head of the table, his cheeks lightly flushed and his hair, wet, perhaps, from the curls of steam that hovered over the surface of the water, plastered to his forehead. He wore a long blue bathrobe that hiked up slightly under the pull of his crutches. Wrathion struggled to look away. “Yes, well, if you would like, we have some food we’d be more than happy to share.”

“Oh, I…” Wrathion heard a faint clank overheard as one of his guards glanced over the railing. Anduin looked down at himself, the pink of his cheeks deepening to red. “I probably shouldn’t. I wouldn’t want to get your table wet …”

“Nonsense!” Wrathion swiped the map off in the other direction, thankful to get it out of his sight, anyways. “There’s no reason to worry about that, dear prince. All of the champions are gone for the day, and we can always get a towel if we need to mop things up.”

“Oh, um,” he continued looking down at himself. Realization dawned on Wrathion: he was embarrassed about his clothing, not the water dripping down his legs. He felt heat rising to his own cheeks. But when he opened his mouth to remind Anduin that he didn’t _have_ to stay, he was cut off by a small cry: “Oh, is that Trias’ cheese?”

Wrathion lifted the lid of the box to look at the name– though he already knew the answer. “Oh, yes, I suppose it is.”

Without another moment of hesitation, Anduin eased himself onto the bench beside Wrathion and turned his torso to face him. “This is the most famous cheese shop in all of Stormwind. Whenever we’re hosting events in the keep my father places a huge order with the Trias family to make sure everyone gets a chance to try some. It’s always one of the most popular foods at the Winter Veil ball…”

“I can see why,” Wrathion nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the other man’s face. The tension had left the corners of his lips when he abandoned his fake smile, and the words tumbling from his mouth weren’t the well-practiced phrases of a dignitary but rather the exclamations of a young man chatting about his home. Wrathion welcomed the change, scooting the box towards him. “Take as much as you like. I’ve already eaten my share.”

“Are you sure?” Anduin waited; he reached a tentative hand into the box. “I don’t want to steal your food…”

“It’s no trouble at all. We can always get more.” Deciding it best not to explain that his agents had been using the portal in Stormwind to move back and forth between Eastern Kingdoms, he left it at that. Anduin didn’t seem too concerned, busy as he was with cutting open a piece of bread and filling it with brie. Wrathion felt his own shoulders starting to relax. They sat in comfortable silence; Anduin bit enthusiastically into the bread, and Wrathion took a long swig from his wine glass. The flame in front of them flickered as a zephyr passed through the doorway. 

After swallowing a few bites, Anduin spoke again. “You know, someone is coming in a few days to bring a tent for my guards, and I was thinking of asking them to bring a game I saw people playing back in Jade Forest. Have you ever heard of jihui?”

Wrathion raised his eyebrows, “No, I haven’t. Is it a strategy game?”

“Yeah, a bit like chess, I think,” Anduin paused, as if waiting to see if Wrathion would question him. But he knew chess, all too well; he and Fahrad had passed many hours playing it back in Ravenholdt manor. He merely nodded, using it as an excuse to glance down at his hands. If his expression had changed, Anduin didn’t seem to notice. 

“Well, it’s like chess in that it requires some degree of strategy, but it’s designed so both players win together. It’s a team game.”

“A ‘team game?’” Wrathion wrinkled his nose. “What’s the point? If nobody wins–”

“Both players win,” Anduin chuckled. “That _is_ the point.”

Wrathion fought to keep the confusion from his face. Trust the pandaren to come up with a game like that, with no satisfactory reward and no sense of triumph. But Anduin seemed so excited about it, which could have been predicted, given his history with ‘peace’ and ‘compromise.’ It probably would have been easier to explain his ideals to a different guest– Jaina, perhaps, or even Varian– but there was something about Anduin, a certain spark of curiosity, that kept him intrigued. His face was alight with excitement, his eyes glittering as the flame in front of him quivered and danced. Wrathion couldn’t help but concur. “Sounds…interesting.”

“If I bring it here, will you learn it with me?”

“Oh!” Wrathion’s eyes widened slightly. “I–” didn’t expect such an invitation, he wanted to say, but worried that might sound pathetic. Anduin had said so little to him since arriving, and now he wanted to play a game? From anyone else, it might seem suspicious, but the enthusiasm in the human’s eyes made it difficult to doubt him. “I would like that, yes.” He swirled the glass of wine around in his hand, all too conscious of the sudden smallness of his voice. He coughed, taking a deep breath, and speaking again, “But just be warned, dear prince, I am a master of strategy. I _am_ a black dragon, you know.”

Anduin all but giggled. “Well, in that case, it won’t take us long to get the hang of it.” 

Their eyes met; Wrathion felt his heart make a tiny leap in his chest. He quickly looked away, but the memory of those eyes, wide and eager, sparkling like the Pools of Purity under the setting sun, remained fixed in his mind.

______________________________

Anduin hadn’t anticipated that writing a letter could be this difficult, but every time he tried to set quill to parchment he felt like he was navigating some kind of goblin minefield. His father had sent an inquiry about his progress, and, having nothing else to do, he had immediately sat down and started in on his reply.

The first paragraph had been no trouble ( _Greetings father, thank you for taking the time to inquire,_ and all the other set phrases that spilled from his pen in a stream), and the question of his health hadn’t been too difficult, either, as he had already written to both Mishka and his new healer in the Jade Forest about his progress ( _I am experiencing soreness in my back and knee, but I have yet to regain much feeling in my lower leg_ ). It had been frustrating to see the words written out so plainly, and yet, there, at least he knew what to say. But then he had reached the part about Wrathion.

 _The dragon prince Wrathion and I have spent some time getting to know each other._ All right, that was fair enough. He dipped his quill in the inkwell, and, with a deep breath, tried to continue. _We have spent the last two weeks learning the pandaren game called ‘jihui,’ and he has shared much about his intentions for Azeroth._

And oh, had he shared. And shared. And shared. Any time the topic of factions came up, he would get this determined look in his eye and start on his rant, mocking the Alliance for their inaction against the Horde and praising Garrosh Hellscream’s determination to overthrow them. When Anduin asked him, why, if he liked Garrosh so much, he was wasting his time talking to one of his enemies, Wrathion had merely waved his hand dismissively and insisted he had yet to pick his side. Sometimes it was easy to get him to desist through simple teasing, but once or twice he had looked utterly overcome with conviction and the words spewing from his mouth like dragonfire had been of loss, destruction, and a demonic invasion that would overwhelm them all. 

To say this had made Anduin uneasy was a bit of an understatement. He had fiddled with a jihui tile in his sweaty palms and tried his best to reason through the dragon’s hasty assertions. But the memory of that _look_ in Wrathion’s eyes never left him: determination, panic, horror, desperation, and a waning sense of control all rolled into one. Just thinking about it made Anduin squirm. He looked down at his parchment, only to find he had let a few drips of ink fall beneath his hand.

He crumbled the page with a sigh, pulling out a new one and starting afresh. Perhaps the inkstains had been for the best– maybe it was better if he didn’t mention Wrathion at all. But would a quick _I have been spending time with the local population_ be enough to settle his father’s nerves? Certainly not. He would have to think of some way to phrase things so he didn’t end up with a worried king on his doorstep the next morning. And besides, a description of Wrathion’s inclement political temperament wouldn’t fully capture the wealth of experiences he had had with him.

Most of the time, Wrathion was fine. Charming, even, in his own way. Anduin enjoyed their conversations and looked forward to their games or the time he spent drinking tea and chatting with him every night after his bath. This didn’t mean that he trusted Wrathion, really, but he certainly liked talking to him. That had to count for something. Reducing him to a handful of misguided outbursts felt like not only an inaccurate picture of him, but also a betrayal of his trust. But what was Anduin to say? _He admires Garrosh and has a frightening temper, but when he calms down he’s a really fun person, I swear!_ Anduin had already been scolded for his tendency towards acceptance more times than he could count, and he didn’t need to give his father more fuel for his warnings.

So he decided not to say anything about him, even though, before he had come, he had resolved to gather as much information as possible about the prince. Well, he was still investigating, he reasoned, and when he had everything pieced together he would sit down and write some kind of official report about the prince in his totality. That seemed fair. He could still be honest without betraying his new friend’s trust. All he needed was time.

Coming back to where he had stopped in the letter, he finally decided on an innocuous statement: _The tavern sits high in the mountains, and it has a mysterious air about it that is beautiful in its own right. The local population is fascinating, and I have spent much of my time getting to know them. Last night I ate supper with a group of grummle pilgrims setting off to towards Kun-Lai, and I can hear the bustle of the neutral auction house from my window every morning. Prince Wrathion and I have spent the last few weeks learning a pandaren game called ‘jihui.’ When the war in Pandaria has ended, I will teach it to you. I think you might like it better than chess._

Satisfied, he finished it off with all of the usual farewells and left it spread out on his table to dry. Grabbing his crutches and limping towards his bed, he caught the sound of Wrathion chatting in fluent Orcish downstairs. Interested, he kept walking, rounding the corner and making for the steps. He shifted both crutches into his right arm while using the railing on his left to help him down. He had to go slowly, but after a few tentative steps he fell into the proper rhythm. 

He passed Sandra and Michael, who had stationed themselves on the first floor to give him enough privacy to study and write, at the end of the railing. Sandra nodded at him, but Michael kept his eyes fixed on the exchange taking place at the table on the other side of the room. Following his gaze, Anduin found that Wrathion was taking part in an animate discussion with an orc who had brought him a bag of stones. He held one up to the light and let out an exclamation. The human strained to remember the vocabulary he had memorized and how they were meant to conjugate, but the words went by so quickly he could catch merely the barest snippets. 

“But I need twenty-five,” he thought he heard Wrathion say, but then again, it could have been forty-five. He was always mixing up those numbers. After that, he thought he heard something about the mogu and then, with a dramatic sweep of his arms, Wrathion rose to his feet. 

It became clear to Anduin that the orc was being shown the door. The dragon said his farewell, and his champion turned around and made his way, with a slight stomp of his feet, towards the exit. When he passed in front of him, Anduin added a farewell of his own; “ _Aka’magosh,_ he said in a small, heavily-accented voice. The orc turned to him and stared for a moment, grunting, and then exiting the building. 

In his absence, Wrathion’s lips twisted up into an amused grin, “My dear prince, I had _no idea_ they were teaching Orcish in Stormwind these days. How surprising!”

“Oh, they aren’t,” Anduin shook his head slightly, swinging forward on his crutches and making his way over to the table. “But they should. I’ve decided to teach myself.”

“A wise choice. It’s always best to know your enemy. When you can’t understand their language, it’s all too easy to fall into their traps.”

Sidling up against the corner of the bench, Anduin passed his crutches into one hand and lowered himself down. “That isn’t really why I want it, though. I mean, that’s part of it, of course, but it also seems more polite to speak to them in their own tongue when we hold negotiations. You know, Garrosh barely understands Common: I sometimes wonder if things would have gone better with him, early on, if our faction had been more willing to speak with him in his own language…”

Wrathion made a face; the slight sneer on his lips threatened to erupt into a full-blown exposition about Anduin’s ‘misguided belief in peace.’ But this time, thankfully, he held his tongue, merely propping his chin on his hand and regarding Anduin with raised eyebrows. “But surely your father knows Orcish.”

“Oh, he does,” Anduin nodded. How much about his father’s past did the dragon know, anyway? “But that doesn’t mean he’s willing to speak it.”

“But Jaina will.”

“Yeah, Jaina will. Or would. She might not feel comfortable with it anymore.”

Wrathion let out a small “hm,” seeming to mill this over in his mind. He took a sip of tea from a cup on the table, and resumed his questions. “So you are teaching yourself, then? It’s no wonder you used the wrong greeting.”

Already starting to grow accustomed to the dragon’s bluntness, Anduin decided to let the jab pass. “What was wrong with it?”

“ _Aka’magosh_ is the kind of thing you say when someone has just given you a present or honored you in some way. It’s about reciprocity, and, trust me, that orc did nothing worth thanking him for. You should have used _Mok’ra_ or something like that.”

“Okay.”

“Plus, your intonation was all wrong.”

Anduin narrowed his eyes in jest, trying his best to keep the amusement out of his voice. “And I’m sure you worked _so hard_ to learn it the right way. What happened? Did you come out of your egg speaking it fluently?”

“Not Orcish, no.” Wrathion shrugged, “Draconic, Common, Titan, Dwarvish, Sin’dorei, Kaldorei, Gnomish, Mogu, Pandaren, Taur-ahe, Goblin, and Troll, yes, but I had to teach myself Orcish and Draenei.” Clearly pleased with the look of shock that crossed Anduin’s face, he took another long, self-satisfied swig of his tea. “I’ve been told I have a perfect Frostwolf accent, which makes sense given that most of the orcs who serve under me are from Alterac Mountains.” 

Anduin looked up at the orc stationed on Wrathion’s left, offering her a faint smile. Her expression remained impassive. “That’s…impressive,” he admitted. As much as the dragon’s gloating probably should have annoyed him, he saw a valuable opportunity here and wanted to seize it while he could. Back in Lion’s Landing no one had been willing to practice Orcish with him, but here there was a constant string of Horde-affiliated champions he could greet and try to speak with. And if Wrathion knew as much about the language as he claimed, he might just be able to–

“Would you be willing to help me with something?” He spoke up without bothering to finish his mental assessment of the situation. “It’s a language question. I’m …” Letting out a sheepish laugh, he looked down at his hands on the table. “…kind of stuck.”

“A language question?” He studied Anduin’s face. The human squirmed slightly under his gaze, surprised by the level of intensity with which Wrathion regarded him. He felt a blush creeping across his cheeks. He fidgeted; his crutches knocked against the corner of the table.

“I mean,” he mumbled, hoping to sound less shy than he felt. He fell back on practiced formalities. “If it would not be too much trouble for you, I would appreciate your help.”

“Trouble?” Wrathion all but jumped to his feet. “No, no, not at all. When it comes to learning languages, it’s always best to ask an expert, and, lucky for you, you have one living under the very same roof.”

Anduin would have made some joke about the orc standing behind them and the level of expertise she likely possessed, if only her expression weren’t so stoic. He instead opted to stay silent, though it took all of his strength to hold back a snort. Humility wasn’t exactly Wrathion’s strong suit, and right now, it was really showing.

“In that case, I’ll go get it. Just give me a second.” 

Anduin reached for his crutches, but Wrathion was already heading towards the stairs. 

“I’ll come with you.” He did little to hide his enthusiasm, shifting into his dragon form with a small “pop” and flapping his wings as he began his ascent. Anduin’s mouth fell open. He had known Wrathion was still a whelp, but nothing had prepared him for the tiny horns curling out of his head just above his oversized eyes and the way he wobbled precariously when rising into the air. His lips twitched into a grin; he followed him, ignoring the soreness in his shoulder as he worked his way up onto the first landing, and then, turning the corner, up into his room. The dragon waited, hovering, just above his bedside table. Anduin giggled in spite of himself.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?” Wrathion flapped, using the motion to turn himself in a circle. Anduin smiled until his cheeks ached. 

“What?” He demanded again, shaking his dragon head with a sigh. A few curls of smoke escaped his nostrils. “You act like you’ve never seen a whelp before, Prince Anduin.”

“Well, uh,” _I’ve never seen a pompous prince flap around like a pet,_ Anduin wanted to say, but settled on a chuckle. “I’ve just never been friends with a dragon like you before, is all.”

Wrathion’s eyes seemed to get even wider, if that were possible. But he quickly wiped the surprise from his face, replacing it with a proud look, as dignified as possible given his appearance. “Well, I would think not; I doubt the Prince of Stormwind has any need for cavorting in the dragon broods of Borean Tundra or Tanaris. You would probably find them boring, anyways.” With that, he shifted back into his human body, dusting off the dragonscales on his armor for effect. “But enough about that. Where’s this Orcish–?” 

“Oh, here, let me find it.” Still unable to fully clear his face of his amused smile, Anduin eased himself down onto the edge of his bed, setting his crutches aside and pulling open the chest in front of him. He rummaged through a stack of clothing and finally, when his fingertips brushed the leather-lined bottom of the case, found what he was searching for. He extracted a tiny book and opened it to a marked page in the middle. Cradling it in between his thighs, he looked up at Wrathion. “The problem’s right here. I can’t find one of these words in my dictionary.”

Wrathion craned his neck pointedly, before nodding towards the bed. “May I join you? It might be easier for both of us.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Anduin shifted to his right. He hadn’t even thought to invite the dragon to sit, thinking it so obvious that he hadn’t realized he would wait for his permission. But as soon as he had given his nod of approval, the dragon plopped down beside him and leaned over to look at the book. Anduin shifted it so it lay open across both of their legs; Wrathion moved closer to keep it from dropping. 

“So, what’s the problem?” Wrathion asked. His knee nudged against Anduin’s.

Anduin squirmed slightly; the dragon’s body was warm beside him, and close enough that he could hear his breath. With a small cough, he pointed down at the book, his expression turning serious. “See, I was able to get the first few lines. It says something like: ‘The Blackrock clan returned to Blackrock Spire and formed an alliance with the black dragon, Nefarian–’”

Oh. Oops. Maybe he shouldn’t be reading this to Wrathion, after all. He shot the dragon a sidelong glance, but he seemed unshaken by the sound of his brother’s name. Satisfied, Anduin continued: “And formed an alliance with the black dragon, Nefarian, who strengthened Rend’s power and,” he pointed down at a circled word in the middle of the page, nudging it pointedly. “And whatever that is. I couldn’t find it in the dictionary.”

Wrathion’s face broke into a knowing grin, and he all but grabbed the book, clearly too excited by now to remember his manners. “Oh, dear Anduin! That’s because you don’t know about vowel shifts. See, when certain verbs are conjugated in the past tense, the vowels in the middle of the word change. ‘A’ goes to ‘e,’ ‘e’ goes to ‘o,’ and ‘o’ goes to ‘u.’ Of course, the diphthongs shift, too, but as a basic rule it’s just easier to remember those four changes in the past tense.”

“So this word, _No’noku,_ should really be–” 

“ _No’nek,_ yes. ‘To allow.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

The book slipped out of Wrathion’s hand, closing and falling into the gap between their legs. He straightened up in his seat; his lips pursed into a thin line, and he waited, expectant, for Anduin to continue. _Dear Light, he thought–_ Anduin’s cheeks burned, realizing he hadn’t understood his idiom. 

“Oh, i-it’s an expression,” he sputtered. “Sorry, it’s just something we say when we’re pleased, you know? It’s not supposed to be taken literally.”

“Oh, well, of course it isn’t!” Wrathion replied, a bit too quickly. “You don’t need to tell _me_ that.”

But when Anduin finally chanced a glance in the dragon’s direction, he saw something he wasn’t expecting at all: disappointment, unmistakable in the downcast frown that lined Wrathion’s face. Had the dragon…wanted him to kiss him? It just seemed so sudden, and not at all what Anduin had thought Wrathion wanted from their interaction together. But there it was, plain as day: in the way his hands shook as he fumbled to find the page they had been reading and how he didn’t bother to fix his turban as it started to slide down his forehead. Anduin couldn’t stop staring. What was going on?

“Yes, well, in any case,” Wrathion coughed. His voice still sounded strained. “In any case, the verb here, _No’nek,_ takes an infinitive, just like in Common. ‘Allowed them to forge armor and weapons,’ see? And because the _dagh_ is the indirect object in the sentence, it takes the ‘h’ ending instead of the ‘k.’ It’s simple once you understand the grammar…of course, relative clauses like the one in the next sentence make things difficult, but–”

Wrathion rambled on, but Anduin was lost in thought. Did this mean Wrathion…found him attractive? Well, if his book collection was any indication, he certainly had no qualms about courting males, but they hadn’t known each other for long and, given the Wrynns’ history with the Black Dragonflight, any connection they formed, particularly of that nature, would be fraught with complications. But on the other hand, Wrathion wasn’t trying to propose to him. It was just a kiss. Only a kiss. There was nothing weird about that, right? 

But even if the thought confused him, there was something about it that made his heart clench in his chest. He could find Wrathion attractive– he hadn’t looked at him that way in an overt sense, but now, as he reconsidered, he had to admit that there was something about the dragon that charmed him in all the right ways. He was smart (Anduin always found intelligence extremely attractive, and this was no exception), unique, and their conversations together were often quite enjoyable. And then there was the way his breath felt against his cheek, warm and enticing, tickling his ear and ruffling through his hair. If he just turned his head a bit, and then–

“Hey, Wrathion?”

The dragon looked up from the book, his eyes wide and inquisitive. “Yes, your–”

Anduin didn’t give him the chance to finish. Leaning forward, he slipped his hand across Wrathion’s cheek and brought their mouths together. Wrathion gasped, and then relaxed, bumping (or nuzzling?) Anduin’s nose before tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His skin felt like silk under Anduin’s lips, quivering and moist, as soft as the goatee tickling his chin. He closed his eyes. Everything seemed to stop.

______________________________

Wrathion hadn’t seen it this busy in the Tavern since the war in Krasarang. Without anticipating the rush that would come at midday, he had moved up into Anduin’s room for a game of jihui. Just after they had finished lunch, however, the champions had started to come. Now the line waiting to see him wound down the stairs and out into the main hall below. From his seat on the open landing, he could hear scuffles breaking out as champions pushed and jostled to find their place in the queue. An orc warrior had insulted a dwarf paladin so badly that both of them, after the dwarf shoved the orc down the stairs, had been forcefully escorted from the premises. Now, a human (Wrathion guessed by his accent) was making loud remarks about the ‘mangy’ tauren standing in front of him. The atmosphere was tense; as much as it pleased Wrathion to see so many people flocking to him, he couldn’t help but feel that things were starting to get out of hand.

Across the table, Anduin sat up straighter than usual, concern unmistakable in his stance. He kept craning his neck to stare over the railing, seemingly debating whether or not he should admonish the human stirring up trouble below. But something seemed to be making him personally uneasy: Wrathion soon discovered, upon glancing to his left, that two forsaken were laughing and pointing in Anduin’s direction, and one of them had his dagger drawn. Oh. Oh no.

Wrathion held up his hand, stopping the human mage who was explaining her successes on the Isle of Thunder. “Excuse me a moment, mage,” he rose to his feet without waiting for her reply, crossing behind the table and stopping, pointedly, behind Anduin’s chair. “Is there a problem here, champions?” 

It wasn’t the forsaken who spoke up, but rather a blood elf standing at the top of the stairs. “We just want to know what he is doing here. It seems strange, given your support of the Horde in–”

“Yes, well,” he tried his best to sound nonchalant, but he knew he had to put an end to this discussion before somebody revealed too much about his…convenient loyalties. “Who I keep company with is nobody’s concern but my own. I assure you that this is all part of a greater plan. With time, you will understand.” He felt Anduin tense in front of him; he probably shouldn’t have said that, if he ever wanted to win the man’s trust, but how else was he supposed to control his champions’ unease? It was better than letting another fight break out in his bedroom.

“I thought the little brat was dead,” an orc rumbled, not even trying to keep quiet, from halfway down the stairs. “Thought Garrosh crushed his tiny pink body and sent it back to Varian in a gift box.” 

The human waiting by the table clutched her staff until her knuckles turned white: She had clearly understood enough of the comments, or, perhaps, had simply recognized Garrosh’s name, to get offended, and was now taking a protective step in Anduin’s direction. Wrathion reached down and touched his shoulder. “Then either we have a ghost in our midst, or someone has led you astray, dear orc.” The draenei paladin standing behind her laughed a little too loudly. The orc’s imp materialized between them, and the clanging of armor drifted up the stairs as several Alliance champions simultaneously reached for their weapons. Anduin’s guards took another step closer. 

Shooting a glare first at the orc on the stairs, and then at the bodyguards standing behind him, Wrathion threw up his arms theatrically. “Enough!” He sighed, flinging himself back onto his chair. “If you cannot wait in here in peace, I invite you to wait outside and enjoy the mountain air until the crowd has dissipated. I will not have needless scuffles breaking out inside my inn.”

And this, he wanted to add, is precisely why these factions need to crumble. 

Drawing in a long, measured breath, he lifted his tea cup to his lips and focused all of his energy on relaxing. He couldn’t let them see his control over them starting to slip. “I apologize for the disruption, champion. Please,” he nodded, “continue.”

“As I was saying,” she frowned, shooting Anduin another worried glance. “We managed to advance into the outer grounds of Lei Shen’s palace, but the Sunreavers have been holding us up. Lady Proudmoore has assured us that we will break through their ranks soon, but until then I am not sure I’ll be able to gather any of the secrets you seek from inside.”

He sighed: there it was again, the factions worrying more about fighting each other than advancing their goals. Didn’t they realize how thoroughly inefficient this was? He glanced at Anduin, hoping to see the same frustration on his face, but his expression had turned unreadable. He would have to bring it up later, after all of the champions had left for the night. He turned his attention back to the mage. “Yes, well, surely you must understand that I cannot reward you until you have returned with something substantial.”

“But I thought maybe a new gem for my helm would help–” 

“You will receive the gem when you have completed your task. Surely you don’t expect me to hand out free rewards without any recompense for their creation?”

“But I _would_ finish your task. If only we were better armed than our opponents, it wouldn’t be such a problem. Why are you offering the sin’dorei the same opportunities, when you know what they are doing to inhibit our progress? It seems so misguided!”

He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Who did this mage think she was, speaking to a prince like that? But he needed all the help he could get, and couldn’t afford to risk her cooperation by snapping at her. “As I have said before,” he tried to keep his voice neutral. “I have my reasons. It will all become clear in time. Please return to the Isle and push towards the goals we agreed upon. When you have completed your task, I will see to it that you are liberally rewarded.”

She seemed to realize he had no desire to negotiate, and bowed her head, slightly. “I will return with the items you requested.”

“Fantastic. I hope to see you soon.”

“Please send Jaina my regards. I hope she is doing well.” Anduin added, smiling at the mage as she turned to leave.

Her bow deepened. “Of course, your Highness. I will relay the message.”

“Thank you. May the Light bless and sustain you.”

“Thank you, your Highness!”

With another bow, the mage made her way towards the stairs. Wrathion eyed Anduin as a troll druid took her place, but he continued smiling, maintaining the same polite expression despite the wary looks being cast in his direction. He was good at this– that, or he really did believe in peace just as much as he claimed to. It was naïve, to be sure, but at least the human prince agreed that something needed to change. It was a step in the right direction. If only–

The thud of heavy footfalls on the landing drew Wrathion’s attention. He looked past Anduin to a cluster of champions shifting and squirming to make room for an imposing pandaren who jumped the line. “Excuse me, champion!” He snapped, but when she rounded the corner he quickly realized why she had felt important enough to shove Wrathion’s other guests out of the way. She was an exchange guard, and determination shone in her eyes. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “As I have politely, and repeatedly, informed your boss, my afternoons are occupied. Please feel free to return–”

“Madam Goya has sent me to speak with you.”

“I can see that,” his eyes narrowed. “And I am reminding you–”

“That, as per our agreement, she has the right to put a halt to your activities at any time.”

He exhaled sharply. He glanced first at Anduin, who was eyeing him with raised eyebrows, and then to the champions clustered behind her. He couldn’t have this pandaren revealing the degree to which the black market controlled his operation, or that he had turned to them for aid after various…incidents that he would rather not explain. He let out a small cough, forcing his face to remain impassive. “Yes, of course, I understand. Perhaps if you give me an hour or so, I can finish my business here and meet her at the auction house before supper. I simply cannot leave all these champions waiting. I’m sure you understand.”

“I can relay the message now.”

“I am sure you can, but personally, I would prefer to speak with the Madam herself, if you don’t mind…”

“We have reason to believe that you have been importing Titan artifacts, which may include celestial dragons, to distribute here in this tavern,” the guard narrowed her eyes. “As per the terms of our agreement, you are not permitted to distribute creatures of any kind, including mounts or pets. If you need to review your contract, we can have a copy delivered to you by the end of the day.”

Celestial dragons? What on earth was Madam Goya on about this time? He hadn’t seen a creature like that in months, not since his champions had finished their work in the Vaults and moved on to other ventures. He felt tension he hadn’t previously noticed leaving his shoulders; it was a simple misunderstanding. “I assure you, I am not selling mounts or pets of any kind, nor am I selling anything, for that matter. I reward those who work for me with specialty items of my own creation. Nothing more, nothing less.”

But instead of directly responding to his remarks, the guard unrolled a scroll and started to read: “On the fifth day of the eighth month, Year of the Jinyu, a warrior riding a Celestial Cloud Serpent visited the Veiled Stair. When questioned about his mount, he reported receiving it while working for the Black Prince in Mogu’shan Vaults.”

“But not _from_ me,” he groaned, but not quickly enough to quiet the murmurs that had started to ripple among his champions. 

“On the twelfth day of the first month, Year of the Crane, the Black Prince sent a human rogue to infiltrate the Shrine of the Seven Stars and purchase a Crimson Whelpling.”

“For _me_!” He tried his best to ignore the way Anduin squirmed at the word ‘infiltrate.’ This was getting out of control. “It was _for me._ I still have it. If you want, I can summon it to show–” 

“On the first day of the tenth month, Year of the Crane, the Black Prince sent two agents through a portal to Stormwind to visit Titan excavation sites in a desert in the north.”

Oh, the Badlands. So that’s what this was about. Well, he certainly couldn’t let any of _that_ get out. If it were just his rogues, it would be one thing…many of them knew, anyways. But with all these new soldiers flocking to do his bidding he couldn’t let the particulars of his creation slip. He crossed his arms. Agreement or no agreement, he wasn’t bound to tell Madam Goya anything. He doubted she would even understand.

“My dear pandaren,” he drawled. His voice was accommodating, but his expression remained stony and as fierce as he could manage, given the circumstances. “My agents are investigating a personal matter near the homeland of me and my ancestors. Surely you will not begrudge me my privacy. As I recall, our agreement said nothing–”

“Our agreement stated that Madam Goya can ask questions whenever she sees fit.”

“And I am answering them,” he snapped. He gestured to the line of champions behind her, ire rising in his voice. “Now as you can see, I am attending to my own business right now.” _And I will not have you coming in here and undermining my authority,_ he wanted to add, but even with fury boiling in his chest he knew that would be a bad idea. “Please, feel free to wait downstairs, and when I am finished for the day I will speak to you in private.”

“I will wait here.” She turned to Anduin, apparently failing to recognize him. “Boy, give me your seat.”

Cries of both approval and outrage raced throughout the crowd. A dwarf stepped forward with such force that he almost sent the goblin in front of him tumbling over the railing. Behind him, a troll let out a hearty laugh. Wrathion shot Anduin a look, but the prince seemed more concerned about all the snarling and pushing than he was about the insult itself. But that was no small comfort for Wrathion, whose knees shook with barely-suppressed rage. “Wait downstairs.” He had no energy left for niceties. “Now.”

 _Right, Left, get up here._ He added, tapping into the gems nestled between their eyes. He saw them readying their crossbows and hurrying towards the stairs, before returning his focus to the situation in front of him. “I will attend to you when I can.”

The exchange guard reached for her polearm, but, as soon as her paw closed around the hilt, seemed to think better of it. Dropping her arm to her side, she turned and started towards the stairs. Just as her paw was about to reach the baluster, the dwarf lunged forward with his axe drawn. “For the Alliance!” He growled. She whipped out her weapon, but it splintered under the blow. 

Wrathion’s heart seemed to stop. The fight played out like a terrible dream, grey around the edges, rushing forward with a force that could not be contained. He snarled, summoning a fireball and aiming it at the dwarf’s head. But Left beat him to it. Her crossbow let out a loud twang from the landing below; an arrow pierced his palm, and his axe hit his foot with a crash. Anduin’s guards charged forward, passing Wrathion on both sides with shields drawn. His head pounded. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he could taste was the fire churning in his throat. 

And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard a cry behind him. Whirling around, he saw two of his champions, the forsaken, rushing towards Anduin. The mage had summoned a chunk of ice that fused his leg to its prop, and the rogue had darted behind him, aiming a blow at the back of his throat. “Anduin!” Wrathion yelled. A golden shield enveloped him just before the blade struck his skin. His chest heaved. His cheeks turned an unearthly shade of white. 

“Stop, you fools!” Wrathion raced forward; his scream fell into a growl. The flame welling in the back of his throat poured forth, catching the mage’s robe on fire and charring his decaying flesh. Unable to pause in his wrath, the dragon turned on the other one: fire fell from the sky and struck him into a heap on the bamboo floor. Behind him, one of his champions shrieked.

“Look at him! Look!” A goblin cried. The troll standing in front of their table made no attempt to hide his gaping mouth. “Look at those wings.”

“He looks like Deathwing. Spirits be with us!”

There was a hard, cold moment of realization, and Wrathion looked down at himself. His gloves had been partially burned away by the heat of his explosion, revealing long claws jutting out from beneath the fabric. His wings– the wings of his father– spread out behind him and cast a shadow across the two corpses he had left in the wake of his fury. His entire body shook; his heart clenched, and the smoke still hanging in the air caused Anduin to choke beside him. Some of his champions were already rushing towards the stairs.

He couldn’t come back from this now, not like this. There weren’t enough practiced words in the world to make up for what they had just seen. Squeezing his eyes closed, he drew a number of stilted, shallow breaths. “Everyone out,” he finally managed to say. “I’ll…be in touch.”

The involuntary twitch of his wings was all the prompting his champions needed. They hurried towards the exit; he could hear the hiss of their whispers even after they left the building. He buried his face in his clawed hands, transformed, and, without another word, darted up into the rafters. Tomorrow he would figure out how to right this disaster, but for now, all he wanted to do was hide.

______________________________

A light flapping at the window gave Anduin pause; he closed the book he was reading and placed it carefully by his side, unable to do more than lift his head from the pillow. A tiny dragon crawled beneath one of the frames; Anduin silently prayed he wouldn’t notice the way his bottom lip had swelled after hours of biting it or the sweat that caked his hair to his forehead. He drew in a shallow breath. “Wrathion?” He whispered.

“Can I come in?”

“Um,” he looked down at himself, smoothing out his nightshirt and buttoning the top button. “Sure, it’s fine. Sorry I’m a mess…” 

The dragon shook his head, rattling his earring, and inching down onto the floor.

He passed over bamboo planks charred with the remnants of yesterday’s fight, and materialized in front of the table in human form. He had abandoned his dragonscale armor and turban, and now wore only his undershirt and pants with his sash holding them together. Anduin couldn’t help but notice how small he looked; his reduced stature accentuated the hesitance in his stance and his small, nervous nod. 

He hadn’t seen Wrathion since the attack, and the dragon was clearly assuming the worst. 

“Wrathion, you can…come closer,” he tried to sit up. Immediately, another wave of discomfort overtook him. 

That morning, the pain had come; it had hit Anduin as soon as he had tried to lift himself out of bed, like a flood crashing over him, or a bell– but he couldn’t bear to think about that. It had started below his knee, but throughout the day it seemed to be getting more and more severe, spreading downward, burning beneath his skin. All he could do now was rest against the pillows and grit his teeth, struggling to avoid every stab between his shoulders and jolt beneath his knee. His books could barely console him: ache had given way to agony, and agony to panic. 

He supposed his nerves were healing, which was great news, in the long run. But that didn’t make the process any less difficult. 

“Sorry,” he added, his voice turning shy. “I haven’t been downstairs today because my leg is bothering me. I, uh, haven’t been out of bed…” Which was, Anduin had to admit, at least mostly true. After yesterday, Sandra and Michael weren’t too thrilled about him being involved in Wrathion’s business, even as a spectator, and to say that he hadn’t been alarmed at all would be untrue. But if what he had seen was the dragon at his worst, Anduin had come to trust him more, not less. Besides, he _had_ saved Anduin’s life. That had to count for something.

But the dragon continued to shift, awkward, his eyes occasionally darting to the scorches on the floor. The human didn’t know what to say to reassure him. “You can come closer,” he whispered again. “It will make it easier to talk, you know.”

Wrathion nodded slowly. Wrapping a clawed hand around the edge of the stool, he dragged it over to the edge of the bed. It made a slight ‘knock, knock’ sound every time it passed over a bump on the floor; Anduin silently prayed that his soldiers, who were stationed at the foot of the stairs below, wouldn’t notice. 

“I didn’t expect the Exchange Guards to show up like that,” he mumbled as he walked, keeping his head down. “I mean, who does Madam Goya think she is, sending someone _here_ to question me, undermining me in front of my champions?” He flung himself down into the chair. There was an even louder thud, and Anduin glanced over his shoulder towards the banister. Luckily, nobody downstairs seemed to hear. 

“Just so you know, Prince Anduin, I don’t work for the Black Market. They just helped me get settled in, but I have paid them back for that. Everything has been settled.”

“That’s fine, Wrathion. You don’t need to explain it to me.” Anduin replied, in total honesty. Of all the things he had considered troublesome or suspicious about the Black Prince, his apparent alliance with crime organizations wasn’t even close to the top of the list.

But he continued to look agitated, squirming and clenching his hands together in his lap. Anduin couldn’t tell if he was trying to justify himself for Anduin’s benefit, or for his own. Either way, he felt his heart clench as he listened to Wrathion stammer. “It’s just, you know, getting set up and all…perfectly normal…”

“I understand.”

Their eyes met, and Wrathion let out a sigh. “My dear prince, if I had known your leg was bothering you, I would have sent my agents for food from Stormwind. You should have informed me!”

 _So you wouldn’t sit around all day worrying that I was mad, you mean?_ Anduin wanted to ask, but knew the comment was far too true to sit well with the dragon. So he merely mustered a small smile. “Oh, I knew you’d be busy, you know? I hope you’ve smoothed over things with your champions…” His eyes strayed towards the marks on the floor, but he pulled them away before Wrathion could notice.

“I have been writing letters, yes. I assume most of them will forget about it by the time they come back to claim their rewards.”

But Wrathion sounded unconvinced, and Anduin couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathy rising in his chest. He wanted to reach over and brush his hand against his knee, but the very thought of shifting his weight made his back ache, and he worried that his leg would fall off the pillow that propped it up. So he went for the next best option: a joke. “He looks like Deathwing!” He growled in broken Orcish, mimicking the troll’s gritty baritone. “What a surprise! I had no idea!”

Wrathion stared at him, and for a brief, fleeting second, Anduin feared he might have made a mistake. But then the corners of his lips twitched. The human let out a tiny giggle for effect, and with that, the dragon’s face softened. He smiled: a full, genuine smile; the sight of it brought color to Anduin’s cheeks.

“By the Light, Wrathion, where do you find these people?”

“I…don’t know, honestly.”

They laughed again, and Anduin felt the tension between them starting to melt away. Wrathion’s shoulders relaxed, and, as he leaned forward, Anduin could tell that his breathing, previously quickened by nerves, and evened out. Without thinking too much about the gesture, he nodded to the space beside him on the mattress. “Want to come over here? It will be easier to, um, talk.”

“I… sure. I could do that.” 

Anduin smiled. Wrathion rose from the stool and sat down on the corner of the bed’s curved frame, scooting back, and then pulling his legs up onto the mattress. He turned to lie on his side, propping his arm up on his elbow and looking down into Anduin’s face. His eyes were curious, and wider than usual. They looked at each other for a long moment. Anduin craned his neck slightly, and Wrathion leaned down. Every movement was shy, stilted; the dragon tilted to the left before drawing back to stare at his mouth, and the human had to nod to urge him on. Finally, their lips brushed. 

But the gentle pressure was gone as quickly as it had come, and Anduin had to sit up slightly to reconnect with him. They traded kisses like this for a few moments, growing gradually less hesitant with every touch and tickle of breath that passed between them. Emboldened by the hammering of his heart and the pressure of Wrathion’s palm against his cheek, Anduin parted his lips slightly, flicking at the tip of the dragon’s tongue with his own. He earned a tiny sigh of approval; he had to struggle to hold back a moan.

After one last kiss, Wrathion drew back to watch him, tracing his clawed thumb over the crest of his cheek. Turning his head slightly, Anduin pressed a tiny kiss against the inside of his wrist. Their eyes locked. Anduin giggled. “You know, I thought the wings were pretty cool, actually,” 

Wrathion raised his eyebrows, before narrowing them into a smirk of his own. “You would.”

“Not as cute as your whelp form, though.”

“What?” His nose wrinkled slightly. “I am a black dragon, Prince Anduin. I am the son of Deathwing.”

“Son of Deathwing or not, I still think you’re cute.”

Wrathion looked incredulous, which only caused Anduin’s smile to widen. After another long, steady stare, Wrathion’s sneer broke. “Don’t mock me, my dear prince,” he scolded playfully, giving the human’s cheek another caress. “You can think what you want, but I assure you, I am _not_ cute.”

“Mhm, sure,” Anduin giggled. “Adorable little whelp.”

It was rare for Wrathion’s smile to reach his eyes– they usually remained piercing and cold even when he abandoned his customary scowl for a more amiable expression– but now they glowed with a warmth that had little to do with their crimson color. He looked so relaxed and…honest, even. Despite what Anduin had seen yesterday, and everything he knew about him and his history, he couldn’t help but feel at ease.

“Just,” despite the snap in his voice, Wrathion didn’t stop smiling, “never call me that in public. I mean it.”

“Whatever you say, my dear, sweet little whelp,” Anduin imitated Wrathion’s lilt and pitch, earning a sound that sounded halfway between a laugh and a growl.

Wrathion started to scoot closer, but something down by his abdomen seemed to be holding him back. He reached for it, producing the book Anduin had been reading upon his arrival. _The Grummle and the Monk._ He held it up to the lamplight. His smile grew wide and expectant. “So, what do you think so far?”

“I’ve enjoyed it,” Anduin admitted. Although the wording was simple, it was still a charming story, much like the books about knights and princesses he had read so many times back in Stormwind. “It’s great to learn about the grummles, particularly. So many of them come through here, but I know absolutely nothing about them. Their culture seems so fascinating. I’m going to take more time to talk to them in the future.”

“Fascinating?” Wrathion sounded surprised. Anduin felt a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “How so?”

“Well, I mean,” the words tumbled from his lips, “how they go on such long treks up Mount Neverest, even from a young age. I guess that’s what they’re doing when they come through here, isn’t it?” He didn’t pause for an answer. “And their beliefs are interesting, too– how they put so much stock in material objects and their power. It’s really different from what I’m used to, but I’d like to know more. Some humans say the Light can’t be found in items themselves, but I can see it in everything: the gleam of a golden ring, the glitter of glass, a hymnal with silver illumination that seems to come to life in the morning sun…”

“Are you talking about the ‘luckydos?’”

“I’m talking about everything now. But, yeah, that’s where I got the idea.”

Wrathion smirked, reaching around Anduin’s body to place the book on his other side. “I can have one of my agents in the Grummle Bazaar bring you a ‘luckydo’ if you want to see it, but I assure you, they’re nothing more than piles of junk. If they had any real power, I would already have some here.”

“I’m sure you would,” Anduin teased. “The grummles aren’t the only ones I’ve seen collecting ‘piles of junk’ around here.”

“Useful artifacts. There’s a difference!”

“Mhm.” Anduin couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at the flustered look the crossed Wrathion’s face. He hadn’t even considered it before, but dragons, particularly black dragons, were known for making hoards of their own. Suddenly, the heaps of runestones and whatever else he had stored up downstairs made sense, and Wrathion seemed to be connecting the dots, as well. Anduin leaned forward, as far as he could manage; their foreheads bumped.

“So naïve,” Wrathion’s breath tickled his chin, hot and moist in the chilly midnight air.

Not bothering to rise to the dragon’s bait– already satisfied by the sheepish smile on his lips– Anduin changed the subject. “I was reading one of your ‘steamy romance novels’ earlier, you know. Speaking of interesting hoards.”

“Oh?” Wrathion’s voice jumped an octave. “Which one?”

“ _Burning Lust._ ” The look that came over Wrathion’s eyes was worth the deepening blush that stained his own cheeks. “You know, the one about the dragon.”

But it was already clear that Wrathion recognized the title, and, judging by the way he was squirming beside him, was personally invested in hearing his response. “So, what did you think?” He murmured; what was clearly meant to sound sexy came off a little too shy. 

“I mean, it was a little weird.” Wrathion’s eyes widened; Anduin bit his lip, realizing his mistake. “Not, you know, the parts about the warrior and the dragon, um, you know. That was…er, enjoyable.” He looked down at Wrathion’s waist, hesitating for a moment, before resting his hand against it. The dragon seemed to take the hint, and scooted closer. “It was just strange to me how the warrior went out looking for a dragon to, well, ‘be with.’ I can’t imagine just going out and doing that with a stranger.”

He could feel Wrathion’s body starting to relax under his touch after a brief moment of agitation. He slid his thumb over the silk of his undershirt, tracing the ridge of his hip through the light fabric. The dragon let out a sigh. “Such is the power of a dragon, I suppose. Some mortals find us utterly irresistible.”

“But that’s not what I mean,” he gave Wrathion’s waist a slight squeeze. “It’s just the suddenness, you know? Like, last year at Winter Veil…” The words left his mouth before he properly considered how inappropriate this story might prove to be. Well, he had already broached the topic. He might as well continue. “Two years ago at Winter Veil, Count Ridgewell’s nephew, Roland, talked me into going out into the gardens and started kissing me. That was fine, but then he tried to put his hand in my pants and–” He cut himself off, frowning slightly at the thought. “It was awkward.”

“Did you tell him to stop?”

“Yes, and he seemed embarrassed, too. But it just wasn’t working for me…”

Wrathion seemed to consider this, letting out a small ‘hm’ and propping himself up a little higher; Anduin reached around and started to massage circles across his lower back. “But this is all right, yes?” He whispered, after a lengthy pause.

“Yes, this is all right.”

A look of unmistakable relief washed over his face, and he leaned down, pressing another kiss to Anduin’s lips. “And this?” The human felt the tiny vibrations of his voice trembling against his mouth.

“Yes, this is…more than all right.” He smiled. Wrathion deepened the kiss. 

Wrathion’s goatee tickled his chin as the dragon leaned closer, causing Anduin to squirm back against the mattress. The dragon’s body was so warm, and the way his hair fell in soft waves around his face made him look _so handsome_ that Anduin could barely keep his breathing level. He felt his body responding to their closeness. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Wrathion to notice or not. 

“For me, it seems like the opposite,” Wrathion shrugged slightly. “When I met a few of my agents– Left, for example, and Peldron– I found myself interested in them, but after I spent more time with them, I realized my interest was…misguided.”

“I think that’s fairly common.”

“But not with you.”

Anduin’s cheeks burned; he had never expected the dragon to be so frank about his attraction, but here he was, all but admitting he had been thinking about him since his arrival at the inn. Although it wasn’t something he personally understood, he couldn’t help but feel flattered. He nodded, leaning up for another kiss.

Seeming to sense the connections Anduin was making, Wrathion quickly shifted his tone to one of explanation, his breath growing noticeably more stilted against the human’s skin. “But then, you know, sleeping with salaried agent seems so very _desperate._ I simply couldn’t do it, knowing what they’re trying to get out of it.”

“That’s basically how I felt with Roland, yeah…” Anduin shook his head. 

“But I don’t worry about that with you.”

“I–” _have, on multiple occasions, worried about that from you,_ Anduin admitted silently, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Of course the thought that Wrathion’s advances were some kind of personal manipulation had crossed his mind, particularly given his history with black dragons. He had lay awake and wondered, after their first kiss, what kind of trick Wrathion was trying to play. But now, looking up into his wide, honest eyes, he simply couldn’t bring himself to feel concerned. He could feel the sincerity in the dragon’s hand against his cheek and the way his eyes glowed expectantly every time he drew closer. Anduin nodded; a silent understanding seemed to pass between them. “I’m glad I’m here, with you.”

And with that, Wrathion carefully draped his leg over his hip, shifting so he didn’t put any pressure on the human’s injuries. He paused, and then, after Anduin smiled, pressed down and claimed his mouth in another kiss. His lips parted on contact; their tongues rubbed together, shyly at first, but gradually gaining more traction. Anduin gasped as Wrathion rocked his hips forward. If not for the pain in his back, he would have arced up to meet his touch. But he could only whimper, and pray Wrathion understood. 

Obliging his sighs, the dragon rubbed up against him again and again, falling into a rhythm with his hips. As his breath quickened, he snaked his clawed fingers through Anduin’s bangs and gave them a tiny tug out of the way. He moaned, squeezing his eyes closed and giving in to the tension rising between his legs. 

He knew Wrathion could feel his erection– his abdomen pressed pointedly against it every time he rocked forward– but his own body didn’t seem to react. His heart was pounding and his breath hitched, but…nothing, down there. Anduin frowned against his lips, worried that he was doing something wrong. He opened his mouth to ask, Wrathion silenced him with another probing kiss. 

Just when Anduin didn’t think he could stand the rubbing any longer, Wrathion pulled away, rising up slightly on his knees. At first he thought the dragon was going to take off his pants, and nodded encouragingly, but release from the confining fabric never came. Instead, the other man swooped down and planted a few, surprisingly chaste kisses against his lips. Anduin keened in spite of himself. 

“I should leave you to your rest, dear prince. I wouldn’t want to exhaust you,” the dragon quipped, clearly trying to sound more confident than he looked. “Sleep well.”

 _I won’t, given how you’ve left me!_ Anduin wanted to cry, but Wrathion didn’t wait to hear his response. He transformed into his true form and fluttered up towards the ceiling, disappearing into the shadows above the rafters beneath the thick thatch of the roof. Anduin’s heart seized in his chest; he slipped his hand into his pants and grasped himself, but the relief was bittersweet, tinged with fears that he had done something wrong or that Wrathion had changed his mind. He couldn’t finish. He felt himself going soft in his hand, and buried his face in his pillow to muffle the frustrated sound that escaped his lips. Where had he gone wrong?

______________________________

“ _Gun,_ mountain. Your move.”

Wrathion looked down at the tiles in the jihui basket, blinking blearily as he tried to make sense of Anduin’s previous choice. If he rolled correctly, he could probably make a _kong_ or four set of cloud serpents, but then the side of his east wall would be...regretfully lacking on his next turn. He sighed, giving the dice a shake in his hand and letting it fall in the middle. Five. He took a cloud serpent tile, and added four to the wall. “ _Noron_ , wall,” he yawned. “Your move.” 

Wrathion leaned back in his chair and watched as Anduin, whose legs were stretched out across his mattress, pondered his own tiles on the bed in front of him. The addition of this new “say a word in Orcish before you place your pieces on the board” rule was keeping him sufficiently distracted, which was exactly what Wrathion needed, after his dramatic exit last night. He could tell that Anduin wanted to question him, but he couldn’t find the energy to say more than “I’m not mad at you” or “you did nothing wrong,” which, naturally, wasn’t enough to assuage the human’s nerves for even the duration of a game. He struggled to hold back a sigh. Perhaps he should just explain before things escalated to that point again. But no, not now. Wrathion could barely keep his eyes open. He’d figure out a time, but not now.

The dreams had returned last night: the sands had torn away his feet, his legs, his lower body, scattering them at every corner of the desert. They had exposed him, and, under the watchful eye of a dragon he didn’t recognize, he had recoiled in fear, alienated and bare. Upon waking, he realized he had dug his claws into his own scales while he slept, ripping them away until blood trickled down the rafters. He was relieved the injuries hadn’t carried through into his human form. The last thing he needed was to explain _that_ to Anduin Wrynn.

“I said _trk,_ blood, Wrathion. It’s your turn.”

His eyes shot open. Had Anduin been reading his thoughts? No, this priest would never do that. One of his champions had compelled him into making a confession once– much to his chagrin, he had mumbled something about Garrosh Hellscream– but there was no way Anduin would break trust with him like that. He shook his head. “One moment, my dear prince. I need some time to recover from the _questionable_ choices you’ve been making today. The pain in your leg must have gone to your head.”

“Hah, very funny, Wrathion. No wonder they say black dragons are clever.” Anduin rolled his eyes.

Too tired to think of a comeback, he merely stifled a yawn in his palm and stared down at the board. Perhaps he could play a set of three autumn tiles in the east. Or a pair of snow lilies, but that wouldn’t amount to much when it came to tallying his points. Better to go with a _pong_ of autumns. He reached for the dice. 

“I contacted Sunwalker Dezco, and he wants to stay as my guard while the champions visit.

The dice slipped from Wrathion’s clawed hand. One. Demons be damned! He let out a small hiss. “Why? Aren’t your bodyguards troublesome enough?”

In the corner, he could hear the humans’ armor clattering against their shields. He couldn’t make himself care. His gaze, once bleary and distracted, started to come into focus. 

“It isn’t protection from you, Wrathion,” Anduin sighed, squirming back against his pillow. “By the Light, he volunteered so your champions wouldn’t worry about me being here, not as some...affront to you, or whatever you think this is. Neither of us are worried about you.”

 _Well, you should be,_ Wrathion wanted to snap, but he wasn’t sure why. He had often found himself torn between wanting Anduin to trust him and fearing he would become dismissive of Wrathion’s power if he became too familiar. Wrathion had always gained esteem through the unease of others, and if that went away, what was he left with? Paying them off? That was even worse. 

And besides, trust came with expectations, which came with obligations, which came with ownership, and ownership was something that terrified Wrathion far more than he cared to admit. 

“I am the leader of the Black Dragonflight, not some pathetic ward,” he growled. “I don’t enjoy having other people around when I’m trying to conduct business.”

“You enjoy having me around.”

“That’s different.”

“Just think of Sunwalker Dezco as me, just...in tauren form. He’s a friend of mine, and I wouldn’t have invited him if I thought he was going to cause trouble. He wants to meet you! Aren’t you always complaining that nobody of importance ever accepts your invitations? Well, here you go.”

Wrathion stared for a long moment, his eyes narrow. Finally, he grabbed his tiles and slapped them down onto the wall. “ _Tukhak,_ enemy. Which is what Dezco is to you, and you would do well to remember that.”

“Here we go again,” Anduin ran his fingers through his hair, all but yanking it out of his head in his frustration. “Light, Wrathion, if I have to hear one more speech about war and your plans for the world I think I’m going to scream. You can’t just, just pop out of an egg one day and think you know what’s best for everyone. I don’t care who you are.”

“You–” he felt his lips twisting into a snarl. “You simply wouldn’t understand, my dear prince.” _You haven’t seen what I’ve seen; you haven’t watched fire rain from the sky and scorch every tree and flower within miles of your precious home. You have no idea what awaits you, when the demons come._ “It’s easy to be optimistic when all you’ve ever known is the pleasures of your own palace, my prince, but I assure you–”

“Oh yes, Wrathion,” Anduin slammed a handful of tiles onto the west wall, his exasperation mounting. “Between being manipulated by your sister and watching my city crumble beneath your father’s claws, it’s been a real bed of roses. You’re ridiculous.”

The dragon opened his mouth to respond, but Anduin cut him off. “ _Nok’hash,_ child. Your move.”

Oh, Wrathion had done it this time. He usually didn’t drag out comments about his family unless he was really upset. On any other day, he might try to take a step back and put on airs until he calmed the human enough to continue their debate, but today, he was simply too tired to think. “Yes, _my family._ They were truly terrible, weren’t they? Good thing I slayed them all to save the likes of you and your people. Call me a child again, Prince Anduin Wrynn.”

“Child,” Anduin replied simply, automatically. “A pile of corpses doesn’t make you wise.”

“Really now?” It was Wrathion’s turn to roll his eyes. He scooped up another set of cloud serpents, flinging them down onto the board with so much force that half of the east wall crumbled. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. “If I had wanted a lecture, I would have invited a monk up here instead. At least he wouldn’t require a string of guards every time we sat down for tea.”

“Oh yes, since you _never_ have your guards around, Wrathion. You have guards patrolling this mountain at all hours of the day. I don’t think I’m the one who isn’t trusting here.”

“ _G’thazag_ , protection. Your move.”

“And Wrathion,” Anduin seemed to have forgotten about the game, instead staring at him with such an intense expression that he had to drop his gaze. “You wouldn’t need so much protection if you tried to be less extreme. You’re doing a...a pretty good job of making connections and gaining acceptance now, but people still worry about you and your involvement in Pandaria, and when you preach things like conquest and war it’s hard for anyone, even me, to see anything but danger. I know you’re concerned about the world, but this isn’t the way to do it. I can _help you_. I want to save the world, too. You must know that. Just let me–”

“I don’t need you to chastise me, my dear prince.” Anger he could deal with, but hearing Anduin, usually so accepting of his freedom, taking on a patronizing tone was too much for him to stomach. He shook his head; a small sigh escaped his lips. “You have your opinions, and I have mine. Let’s leave it at that for now, shall we?”

Anduin let out a long exhale, pausing, and finally looking down at the board. He fumbled with the tiles for a moment, rebuilding the wall that Wrathion had unintentionally shattered. Finally, he looked up, his expression a mix of concern, irritation, and unbridled confusion that left deep creases across the skin between his eyes. His features, usually gentle, look strained and worn. “All right, Wrathion,” he placed a pair of cranes on the north wall.

“ _Zaga,_ friend. Your move.”

______________________________

Anduin checked himself one last time in the mirror, leaning on his crutch with one arm as he readjusted his wings with the other. They cupped around the sides of his body, blending perfectly with the blue dress robes he had chosen for the occasion. A pair of horns nestled in his hair and a bit of paint beneath his eyes completed the look. He reached for his other crutch, which he had wrapped in the same blue cloth used for his wings, and made his way towards the stairs.

His chest bubbled with nervous excitement as he wondered what Wrathion would say about his choice of costume. Of course, he probably would have _preferred_ if Anduin dressed as a black dragon, but Anduin knew that would send every Alliance champion for miles running to Lion’s Landing to inform his father. Plus, black and gold really didn’t look good on him. Wrathion didn’t seem to harbor negative feelings about the Blue Dragonflight, and besides, the robes brought out the color in his eyes; he flushed as he hoped that Wrathion would notice _that_. 

Rounding around the corner onto the first landing, he saw that the festivities, which he had heard from his room upstairs, were now in full swing. Wrathion’s agents had decorated the inn with purple candles and pumpkins carved with various images: a majestic dragon (who looked absolutely _nothing_ like the whelp who currently resided in the inn, but he supposed it was supposed to be an image from the future), a pandaren face, a tiger, a crane, and even the Horde and Alliance banners. Wrathion had gone out of his way to extend his welcome to everyone, and it seemed to be paying off. The hall was packed with champions, villagers from Binan and even one Anduin recognized from Halfhill, and a group of Jinyu who had to be from the Pools of Purity. A few Exchange Guards had shown up, as well, but it wasn’t clear if they were there to celebrate or to watch the inn. Either way, everyone seemed happy, and nobody fought. 

A few champions turned their heads as Anduin stepped down from the bottom stair. His guards shuffled out of his way, allowing him to slip between them and into a cluster of draenei who were laughing about something in their native tongue. When they saw him, they all paused, bowed, and switched to Common. “Ve vere tinking of last year’s Hallow’s End in Stormvind and how ze dvarves got so drunk it felt like Brewfest all over again,” a female shaman explained, her blue cheeks tinged purple as she beamed at him. 

He couldn’t help but think of Mishka; with a slight pang in his chest, he returned her smile. “Well, the Dwarven District is certainly proud of their beers. It’s no wonder they get along so well with the pandaren who moved to our city.”

“Yes, your Highness,” a paladin beside her smiled, inclining his head in the prince’s direction. “I vas just saying ‘sat, if not for ze furs on zeir cheeks, ve vouldn’t know ze difference betveen zem if ve tried.” This comment earned another round of chuckles, and a dwarf who was standing behind them raised a mug in their direction. Anduin let out of small giggle. 

“I’m glad to see everyone enjoying themselves,” he said. “I’m going to go check on our host now. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“‘sank you, your Highness. It vas a pleasure to see you.”

With that, he started to wind his way through the clusters of champions, heading towards the table where, he imagined, he would find Wrathion. To his surprise, a cluster of tauren stepped out of the way and made a point to let him pass. Having Sunwalker Dezco here really did seem to be helping, no matter what Wrathion said. A group of sin’dorei weren’t quite as polite, but at least they weren’t outwardly rude to him; given the reports they had been hearing from the Isle of Thunder, he frankly had expected much worse. One of them, who seemed to be dressed as a witch, even offered the barest hint of a smile. He counted that as a victory, and slipped by with a courteous bow of his head.

He heard Wrathion before he spotted him; he seemed to be working his charm on a group of champions who were seated at the table around him, praising their various successes and their ‘ _high degree of enthusiasm_ ’ for discovery and conquest in the Thunder King’s fortress. When Anduin broke through the crowd, he quickly realized why Wrathion was trying so hard: to say these rogues, both kaldorei, were impressive would have been an understatement. Both were bedecked in fantastic clawed pauldrons like Anduin had never seen. One of them even had a tentacled dagger that writhed and squirmed by his side. With allies like this, Wrathion would have little trouble doing...whatever he was trying to do on the Isle, for better or for worse.

Because the two rogues seemed so large and imposing, it took Anduin a few moments to take notice of the smaller man seated across from them. But when he did, he couldn’t pull his eyes away. Wrathion had dressed as a Shado-Pan monk: his red eyes burned like fire beneath the brim of his _douli_ , and the blue-and-red leather armor clung to his slender frame in ways that made Anduin squirm in spite of himself. It had been several weeks since they had shared more than a fleeting kiss, but it took all of Anduin’s strength to restrain himself from claiming his lips, shrouded in red silk as they were, right on the spot. Everything about the outfit suited him; Anduin flushed deeply. 

Wrathion seemed to feel his gaze upon him, because he glanced his way. His eyes widened until his brows disappeared beneath the shade of his hat; Anduin could tell he was smiling, even through his mask. “Prince Anduin Wrynn, you like absolutely stunning this evening,” he purred. The rogues turned to stare. He could feel his cheeks getting hotter, thankful that the blue paint and glitter would probably conceal the changing hue. “Please, please, come and join us.”

He limped over to the seat beside Wrathion, as dignified as possible given his mounting excitement and the sudden wave of shyness that washed over him. He rested his crutches against the end of the table and eased himself down into his seat. Wrathion turned to him with a low murmur, “Though you should have gone with a black dragon, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, but I don’t think I could ever eclipse you in that, Prince Wrathion,” he whispered, hoping his playful tone was enough to conceal the seriousness behind it. The rogues, luckily, seemed unfazed. 

“Hm, perhaps. But it wouldn’t have hurt to try,” Wrathion teased, resting his chin against his folded fingers. Anduin slipped his hand under the table and, after a moment of hesitation, rested it on Wrathion’s thigh. His legs felt as taut and slender as they looked through the tight leather fabric. The dragon dropped a gloved hand to rest on top of his. 

“I was just telling these fine champions,” Wrathion was much better at being discreet about the handholding than Anduin ever was. His voice remained calm and unconcerned. “About my interest in the Thunder King’s fortress and what it could reveal to us about the titans and their power. This will be a formative experience for you and your people, if what I expect to find comes to light.”

“And what do you expect to find?” One of the kaldorei asked, his expression unreadable.

“The secret to other worlds– worlds beyond our comprehension. Worlds we can build and shape to suit our needs. Past wrongs that could be undone–”

The two men glanced between themselves. Anduin couldn’t tell if they were growing uneasy, or simply losing interest. Wrathion seemed to sense this shift and changed his tone. “Of course, you will both be _handsomely rewarded_ with treasures you can only receive through me. Treasures of my own creation that will greatly bolster your natural talent.”

The night elf seated across from Anduin seemed to perk up at this, but the other one remained impassive. “We will get back to you.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Wrathion waved his hand in a flourishing gesture. “If you have any questions, please, feel free to ask me or any of my agents.”

“Of course.” They rose to their feet in unison.

“Enjoy the party,” he nodded at them, and they responded in kind. After a slightly deeper bow in Anduin’s direction, they both turned and faded into the crowd.

Beneath the table, Wrathion laced his fingers with Anduin’s and gave them a gentle squeeze. If he was upset about his loss with the rogues, he wasn’t letting on to it, instead directing his energy towards the human prince and the grasp they shared against his leg. “You really do look beautiful,” he murmured, the airs he had been putting on disappearing from his voice. Anduin stroked his thumb through his leather glove. 

He could still feel the other man’s thigh, warm against the back of his hand, tensing slightly as they stared at each other. He was making Wrathion squirm. The thought made his own pants feel a bit tighter, and he was suddenly thankful for the heavy robe hanging over top of them. He wished they were back in his bed, like they had been two weeks ago, only this time...well, if the look Wrathion was giving him was any indication, this time things would end differently. 

It was rare for Anduin to feel this way, and now he didn’t want it to stop. He smiled, and Wrathion’s eyes glowed in response. An unspoken understanding passed between them, and he felt his heart quicken in his chest. 

But the party pulsed on around them; their private moment didn’t last for long. Anduin suddenly felt a nudge at his side and, looking down, discovered it was Makkie, a pandaren child who lived on the Stair, trying to get a better look at his wings. “Ooooh, these are so cool,” he appraised, rubbing the fabric with his paw. “Are they real?”

Anduin chuckled. He could feel Wrathion leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. “No, I’m afraid not. The only one with real wings here is Prince Wrathion. These aren’t nearly as impressive as his.”

But Makkie shook his head, regarding Wrathion with a suspicious glance. “That monk needs to eat something! I’ve never seen a Shado-Pan look like _that_.”

Anduin’s laughter grew louder; he coughed to hide the sound, hoping the man behind him wouldn’t be too upset. But he seemed to be taking the comments in stride, letting out a small, though muffled, laugh of his own. “I think your holiday is lost on the natives of this land, my dear prince.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should tell Taran Zhu you’re looking to join his ranks. You certainly have enough experience lurking in the shadows.”

“I’m afraid there are vows they take that I just couldn’t keep.” 

He leaned closer; Anduin could feel his warmth against the side of his neck. He shifted in his seat, resisting the urge to rest back against him. He knew exactly what Wrathion was talking about, but luckily the comments were lost on the small pandaren. 

“Well, I think you should eat some of those red things in the water,” Makkie pointed towards the bucket of apples at the other end of the room. A group of trolls were currently clustered around it, their tusks dripping with the evidence of several failed attempts to get the fruit into their mouths. “I would, but I can’t reach into it...”

The voice behind Anduin’s shoulder was, much to his surprise, one of compliance. “Sure, I will give it a try,” Wrathion chuckled, and suddenly his agreeability made sense, “but only if Prince Anduin joins me.”

His eyes widened slightly. He couldn’t help but think getting their mouths in such close proximity in public was a bad idea. “Well, uh,” Anduin stammered. Makkie looked up at him with an expectant smile, “o-only if you bring it up here on the bench, because I don’t think I’ll be able to reach it, otherwise.”

“That can be arranged.” And before Anduin had the chance to protest, the dragon’s guards turned and walked over to the corner; they each lifted the bucket at one of its handles, and carried it over, with a few sloshes onto the floor, to the gap Wrathion had created between them. They placed it down. The apples rolled as ripples raced across the surface of the water. 

“Ah, here we go!” Wrathion gestured down at the game, a look of triumph shining in his eyes. “Another way to test our skill together. Only this time, you will allow me some competition, I presume.”

Anduin was painfully conscious of the trolls heading over to watch their game, and the clusters of people near the table who had turned to see what was happening. Hoping his blush wasn’t too apparent, he smiled, trying his best to look as relaxed. “Sure, here we go, but if you’ve never played this before, be careful not to get your face too close to the water...”

“And the same to you, Prince Anduin. Wouldn’t want to smudge that pretty face paint.”

Anduin didn’t even need to see his mouth to know that he was smirking. But he soon got a look at it, regardless, when Wrathion reached up and tugged the cloth down off his chin. Anduin straddled the bench and did his best to focus on the bucket between them, but, with Wrathion’s breath tickling his lips as they leaned down together, it was becoming increasingly difficult. Yes, playing this in public was definitely a bad idea. 

Wrathion was the first to get an apple; he sank his teeth in one almost immediately, and tugged it up out of the water with a proud grin. A few of the champions clapped, and one chuckled when Anduin’s nose accidentally went a little too far into the water. He sat up and wiped away the dribble rolling down his face. Trying again, he managed to get an apple to place next to Wrathion’s.

“You are better at this than I expected,” Wrathion mused, watching him lean down for a second try. His teeth closed around the skin of an orange apple almost immediately, and he added it to the line.

“Humans invented this game, you know. We even play it at the royal parties back home.”

“The thought of your father shoving his face into a bucket of water is truly astounding. I only hope to witness it someday.”

Laughter rippled through the room. A few human paladins standing at the opposite end of the table gasped, and Anduin, noticing their looks of hesitation, did his best to deflect any unease they were feeling. “Well, father doesn’t do it often, and only after he’s been into the dwarvish brew.” With that, the paladins added their voices to the merriment. 

While everyone continued to listen, Wrathion scooped down and claimed another apple with his teeth. They were now at two each: things were getting serious. Anduin held back his bangs and leaned down just as Wrathion was coming up from a failed attempt. Their foreheads bumped; color rose to Anduin’s cheeks as he remembered the same gesture happening under vastly different circumstances. “Watch yourself, Prince Anduin,” Wrathion chided. He was suddenly keenly aware of Wrathion’s breath. 

So flustered by the memory of Wrathion sliding into his bed that he barely remembered to keep his head out of the water, Anduin bumped his teeth clumsily against the smooth red skin of an apple beneath him. It floated away, knocking against the tip of Wrathion’s nose. He opened his mouth and tried to catch it, but, after another glance in Anduin’s direction, went in too hard. The apple stuck in his razor teeth. They pierced it to the core, and he could barely get it out of the water.

The paladins near the end of the table chuckled with greater intensity. Suddenly concerned that Wrathion might assume the worst about the laughter around him, Anduin reached over and helped yank the fruit out of the dragon’s mouth. He ended up taking half of it with him in the process, which he had to swallow, clumsily, as juice dribbled down his chin. Anduin brushed a few droplets away with his thumb; forgetting, for a moment, to be conscious of the onlookers, the human savored the feeling of his soft skin. 

“Well, I guess you’re eating that one, for sure,” Anduin teased gently. The crowd around him murmured in approval. 

Wrathion managed a small snicker, never breaking eye contact with Anduin as he pursed his lips together beneath his touch. “I win. Tell me, what is my prize?”

“That apple you just snapped in half,” Anduin managed to tease, but the heat rising to his cheeks was enough to betray where his mind had gone. That would have to wait. For now, all he could do was nudge his knee against Wrathion’s around the bucket and hope that his gaze was enough to make the dragon feel as flustered as he was. 

And if the shy smile that flashed across Wrathion’s features was any indication, he had succeeded at the game, after all.

It wasn’t until three hours later, after the last of the champions had trickled out and taken to the night sky, that Anduin finally got his chance. He limped out onto the porch and watched Wrathion bid farewell to a pair of sin’dorei, and, as soon as their blue drakes faded into the mist, slipped his arm pointedly around Wrathion’s waist. His hip felt firm and narrow under Anduin’s palm. “I’ve been waiting to do that all evening,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh. Wrathion leaned against him. 

A bitter autumn air had descended upon the tavern in the darkness; frost seemed to cling to the fog like glitter, shimmering as the pumpkins at their feet emitted a soft, orange-tinged glow. Anduin stroked his thumb up Wrathion’s side, savoring the other man’s warmth. He felt a quiver stir beneath the tight leather of his costume.

“Do you want to come upstairs with me?” Anduin asked, simply, knowing he would understand.

“Right now, nothing would please me more, Prince Anduin.” Wrathion’s response was playfully formal, and Anduin couldn’t help but smile. 

With that, they headed back inside. When they met Sandra and Michael at the bottom of the stairs, Anduin murmured some hasty excuse about “needing them to stay down here” and “wanting to play a game with Wrathion.” They probably saw right through the clumsy ruse, but, luckily, didn’t question him. Wrathion went first, and Anduin followed. The stairs seemed to take an eternity that night, and, with every step, he felt his leg quiver even more. He wasn’t sure if this was strain or excitement; at this point, he didn’t care. 

Wrathion waited for him at the top of the staircase. As soon as he emerged into his bedroom, the dragon’s arms were around his waist, pressing him against the wall and claiming his mouth in a long-awaited kiss. His lips parted instinctively, and their tongues brushed together. The wings on his back broke and fell off his shoulders as the dragon leaned into him, rubbing their bodies together and gripping his hair with an intensity that rendered Anduin unable to breathe. He gasped; the dragon caught the tip of his tongue between his lips and gave it a needy suck. 

“Light, Wrathion,” he whispered, “to the bed...”

“Mhm.” 

His crutches dropped to the ground with a loud “crack,” barely muffled by the fabric he had wrapped around them. Well, if Sandra and Michael weren’t suspicious before, they certainly were now. He was grateful he had enough authority to keep them downstairs; for once, being a prince had its benefits. 

Wrathion helped him over to the bed, easing him down with a strength usually concealed by his lithe form. He shimmied back against the pillow, making room for the dragon to join him, and he did, after placing his _douli_ on the ground and sliding the leather boots off his feet. He crawled between Anduin’s legs, pushing up his robe as he went, revealing pants, tented and tight, underneath. He grazed his fingers over the bulge he found beneath them, and Anduin couldn’t stop his hips from bucking to meet his touch. The fleeting pressure was just enough to tease him into full hardness, and left him squirming and keening in its wake. 

“These robes need to go.”

Anduin nodded shyly, arcing his back as high as possible to give Wrathion better access to the buttons. Together, they managed to get it open and off, knocking one of his horns to the side so they fell, lopsided and silly, off the back of his head. Wrathion chuckled; the sound hummed against his lips as they pressed together into another kiss. 

Anduin squeezed his eyes closed, and for a moment, all he could feel was the heat of Wrathion’s mouth and his bare hands (when had he removed his gloves?) snaking up the sides of his chest. His claws tickled Anduin’s soft flesh, and for a moment, he worried that he wouldn’t find him attractive. But any shyness melted away when the dragon dipped down to kiss and bite his neck. Every peck came with a brief sting that made him quiver from his chest to the base of his abdomen. Wrathion’s claw found his nipple; he had to bite his lip to keep from calling out. 

Turning his head to muffle a moan in his pillow only gave Wrathion better access to his throat, and he worked his way from his earlobe to the curve of his shoulder. Anduin felt his thumb tracing circles over his sensitive skin; his heart pounded, every stroke setting his nerves on fire. Wrathion gave a small pinch, and Anduin gasped. 

The dragon glanced up at him from his place on his neck. “Too much?” He whispered, worry creeping in to his voice.

“L-Light no, Wrathion. Keep... keep going...”

The dragon’s head dropped lower, and Anduin’s fingers snaked through his wavy hair. He cupped his cheeks with his palms, watching as he moved his mouth first to Anduin’s collarbone, and then to his chest. The human’s breath hitched. He buried his face in his hair, whimpering as Wrathion’s thigh rubbed between his legs. 

Bucking his hips to increase the friction between them, Anduin stared with expectant eyes, hoping for some indication as to what Wrathion wanted him to do. But the dragon seemed content to keep kissing down his chest and over the tiny curve of his belly, finally resting his palm, almost hesitantly, against the top of his pants. “Wrathion, please...” Anduin was surprised at the needy moan that escaped him. Well, if his guards had had any previous doubts about their activities, they certainly knew now. His cheeks blazed, but his hips kept nudging forward.

“As you wish, my dear prince.”

It wasn’t until Wrathion lifted his hips and worked his pants off of his ankles that he started to hesitate. When he returned to Anduin’s hips he looked down at his erection like he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Anduin didn’t understand. He reached down to brush a few stray hairs off his forehead, staring into his eyes and trying his best to read the emotions that burgeoned behind them. Despite the twitch of his shaft as the cool air passed over it and the sigh rising in his chest, he forced himself to speak: “Wrathion, if you don’t want to, we can stop, you know. If you’re nervous, or...it’s okay.”

But Wrathion shook his head emphatically, his curls tickling the backs of Anduin’s fingers. “No, no, I am merely trying to decide how best to proceed,” he leaned down, pressing a light kiss against Anduin’s abdomen; his fingers, though shaky, reached over and closed around the base of his cock. The pressure was an instant relief to his swollen skin, and he pressed up, encouraging, letting his own hips guide the dragon’s first few strokes. 

Always a quick learner, it took only a few tries for Wrathion to fall into a rhythm with his palm. As he nudged his foreskin back and forth over the head, Anduin felt a jolt race through him and had to hide his face against his shoulder to silence his cry. He could feel the tension welling up between his legs; he gave Wrathion’s hair a tug, hoping he would get the hint and crawl up to kiss him, but the dragon remained nestled between his legs. As attractive as he was, staring at his cock in intense concentration and working his hand in even, measured strokes, Anduin wanted him to enjoy this, too. 

“Hm, Wrathion, why don’t you–” But as soon as he reached for the dragon’s shoulder, he felt something hot and wet flick at the top of his head. 

“Oh Light!” He gasped. The tip of the dragon’s tongue nudged against his slit. He threw back his head and let out a low groan. “Mhh, Wrathion...”

And Wrathion responded with enthusiasm, trailing quick, almost desperate kisses down the underside of his cock. He dipped even lower; Anduin bit his lip as another tremble raced up the inside of his thigh. As much as he wanted to touch Wrathion, he was enjoying this. He beamed down at the dragon as he traced his finger lightly over his ear.

But after making his way back up to his head and flicking his tongue around it one last time, Wrathion hesitated again. His eyes were wide as he looked up at Anduin, and he kept grasping and slackening his grip on his erection as if trying to figure out what to do. 

He could tell he was planning to take him in his mouth– upon realizing this, it took all the strength in the human’s body to keep his hips pinned against the mattress– but Wrathion looked worried. Anduin nudged himself up against the headboard, using this leverage to reach down and caress the soft hairs of Wrathion’s goatee. He earned a sigh, but the worry didn’t altogether leave his eyes.

A quick flash of white beneath Wrathion’s swollen lips was all the explanation Anduin needed. Oh, he’s worried about his teeth. And Anduin, remembering the apple’s fate a few hours ago, had to admit that at least part of him agreed. He offered the dragon a sheepish smile, tilting his chin so their gazes locked. “Come back up here, Wrathion,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere. “I want to kiss you again...”

After a pause, Wrathion nodded, and, still keeping his fingers wrapped around the other man’s erection, made his way to lay by his side. They watched each other for a long, silent moment before Anduin turned and claimed his mouth in a passionate kiss. He felt the dragon’s lips part to meet him, tasting a faint hint of saltiness on his tongue from his ministrations below. He nibbled and sucked on the tip, gasping into the kiss as he felt Wrathion’s hand starting to move once more. He watched him closely as he dropped his hand to rest on his clothed abdomen. 

“Can I...can I touch you?” He didn’t even need to look to know the dragon wasn’t hard. Even through his lustful haze, it worried him, and he didn’t want his friend to feel neglected. But Wrathion gasped and squirmed as he caressed his abs through his leather chestpiece, and, even in the lamplight, he could have sworn he saw him blush. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine! I just thought, well, er–” His own breath hitched as Wrathion’s palm, now mostly still, wrapped over his head. “I just want you to feel good, too, you know?”

“I know.” The red glow of Wrathion’s eyes disappeared as he squeezed his lids closed. Who would have guessed the dragon would be so shy? Anduin waited, keeping his hand perfectly still, until he saw a faint hint of crimson creeping out from beneath his lashes. He leaned closer, and nuzzled their noses together.

“Yes, you can touch me, Anduin,” he finally murmured, giving him a firm, ardent kiss as he dropped his free hand down to undo his pants. Anduin waited until, after another pause, he felt Wrathion’s palm moving against his shaft once again. He sighed; he slipped his hand down into the other man’s open garment, feeling his skin quivering and burning against the pads of his fingers. He followed the trail of hair further down, ruffling it slightly, before letting his hand disappear into the other man’s pants. The flat surface ended abruptly, dipping down into a shallow, moist crevice.

Well. That certainly explained a lot.

He could feel Wrathion squirming, and, when their eyes met, he saw worry there that made his heart seize in his chest. What was he afraid of? That he was...going to stop, or yell at him, or what? As surprised as Anduin was at first, the shock quickly gave way to concern, and he dipped forward and pressed their mouths together for a soft, affectionate kiss. “Hm,” he murmured, sliding his fingers down until he felt a small nub of raised flesh. He rubbed it; Wrathion let out a tiny gasp. “Here, right...?” He felt the dragon nod against him.

It took a moment to get his bearings, but soon he fell into a rhythm of his own, using the pad of his finger to smear the other man’s juices back and forth over his swollen tip. They kissed again, and he could finally feel the dragon’s nerves giving way to pleasure. His breath hitched, and his leg jolted slightly in Anduin’s direction. He was already so wet: to think that Anduin had been worried about _that_ only moments before. 

This was still Wrathion, and he was moaning and shaking against Anduin’s body because of _what he was doing to him._ That alone was enough to make his cock throb and leak; a wave of pleasure washed over him, and the world around him faded into a pleasant haze. 

He nestled his head against Wrathion’s shoulder and let out a shaky exhale. The dragon was stroking him faster, though, with Anduin rubbing against him, he would falter whenever a quiver or twitch rocked his hips. His breath burned against the human’s neck, and Anduin had to sink his teeth into a leather strap on his shoulderguard to keep from crying out. The armor tasted musky between his lips. He sighed. His hand quivered as he moved his fingers in a circle over Wrathion’s swollen skin.

He could feel the pressure mounting between his legs; his hips moved on their own, rocking, jerking, and _needing more_ of the soft hand that pumped his erection. He rubbed Wrathion’s cheek with his own, rough and desperate, as he buried his face in his sweaty hair. The dragon cried out, his voice made brazen by lust; he rocked hard into Anduin’s hand. His moan was enough to send the human, thrusting desperately, over the edge. He came with a long, forceful shudder; his entire body tensed, and for a moment, all he could see was Wrathion.

When he finally got control of his breath, he turned to the dragon, realizing his hand was still buried in his pants. He started rubbing again, but Wrathion shook his head, wrapping his soiled fingers around his wrist and giving him a tug. “Mmh, it’s good,” he purred, before leaning down and kissing him. Lust gave way to affection, and the two of them took their time, sighing, savoring the softness of the other’s skin and the obvious hitch and gasp of their breaths: small reminders of their passion, lingering even after Anduin closed his eyes and leaned into the other man’s embrace.

He knew they were a mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He merely rested his fingers, still wet, against Wrathion’s cheek, now smudged with facepaint, and leaned against him. The dragon would probably move soon, maybe even flutter off to his own bed in the rafters, but right now, Anduin needed to bury himself in the warmth of his arms.

______________________________

He could tell from the moment his agents walked in that he wasn’t going to like what they had to say. Reade’s gaze darted quickly around the room, and Bria’s armor looked battered, falling apart and bulging over what seemed to be a cast on her left arm. He folded his hands together on the table and waited for them to approach. “Well?”

It was Bria who finally drew near, pausing in front of the bench for a moment and then taking a seat when he failed to stop her. Perhaps knowing that Wrathion favored the other human, it took Reade several more moments to get up the courage to sit down. He continued watching their dance of hesitation without comment, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. He couldn’t help but notice they hadn’t brought back any food from the Eastern Kingdoms this time; they must have known that even that wouldn’t temper the blow of what they had to say.

“Your Highness, Earth-Warder,” Bria whispered, after a few adjustments to her battered armor. They were pulling out his titles now; this couldn’t be good.

“Yes, Bria?” 

“We captured a red drake, as you commanded.” So the dark stains on her armor Wrathion originally thought was blood were probably scorch marks. Probably, at least. He nodded, gesturing for her to proceed.

“We captured a red drake from the Twilight Highlands: one of the new brood that has settled there. Varastrasz, I think his name was.”

 _She thinks?_ It took everything in Wrathion to hold back a sigh. 

“We subdued and questioned him. It took several hours of _persuasion_ , and we fought hard,” her voice grew louder as she lifted up her cast-covered forearm. Wrathion quickly glanced over his shoulder, making sure that Anduin was still at his bath. The last thing he needed was for the prince to walk in on a discussion about torturing one of the red dragons his kind idealized so much. 

Well, if the length of time it had taken Wrathion to get the glitter out of his hair this morning was any indication, the human would likely be out there for a while, at least.

“But he finally gave it up,” Reade added, pulling his mask off of his mouth. 

“Yes, very good.” He tried to sound as dismissive as possible, but he could feel his heart leap in his chest. He swallowed, willing the ball of emotions and nerves that had coalesced at the base of his throat to dissipate. So this was it: He was finally going to hear the truth about his origins, about the nightmares, about everything. Clenching his hands together on the table, he steeled his expression and waited. “So tell me, what did you learn?”

“My prince...” Bria trailed off. Wrathion’s stomach was in knots.

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath, trying again. “My prince, we learned that, as you know, the Red Dragonflight created you in the Badlands, to assume your father’s role and carry on a new, uncorrupted Black Dragonflight.”

“But they changed their mind when I refused to be their pawn, and started hunting me down, instead.” His eyes narrowed. He knew all this already. His questions were about their methods, not their intentions, and if his agents had forgotten to ask– 

“Apparently they used some kind of titan device to create you,” Reade cut in. Upon hearing this, Wrathion’s expression started to soften, and he managed to sit up a little straighter on the bench. A titan device didn’t sound too...unsettling. He rested his chin on his propped hands and waited for them to continue. 

“The titan device cleared away the corruption in you and was also used to inseminate your mother’s eggs with Deathwing’s sperm and other genetic information. It is believed she was originally a lesser consort of your brother, Nefarian.”

Wrathion tensed at this revelation, though he couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. Trying to quell the emotion welling in his chest at the thought of his own mother– but she _was_ a corrupted black dragon, he had to remind himself, and a consort of Nefarian at that– being experimented on by the reds, he let out a small cough. “Yes, well, we had mostly guessed that,” he responded; his voice sounded as strained as he felt. 

Bria, choosing entirely the wrong time to have a particularly heightened sense of awareness, seemed to read something in his expression that caused her to falter. Clutching her cast to her chest, she dropped her voice to a low whisper. “They...created you from parts of other dragons, your Highness. Several eggs from your mother as well as one from another clutch, and corpses a champion collected for them after slaying a group of whelps...”

What?

Wrathion felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. Blood drained from his cheeks; his lips, now numb, tingled as he opened his mouth. So this was why he was haunted by dreams about his own legs and wings disappearing across the desert. This was why he often felt like a different person, and couldn’t remember who he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He was a composite, formed from both living and dead parts.

He was a monster, and part of him had known it all along. 

His stomach plummeted under the wave of emotions that consumed him. He felt violated, disgusted with his own body and the dragons who had twisted and shaped him (Or them? He didn’t even know where his selfhood rested anymore). He hated himself, and he hated them– the reds, his father, his brother, and even the once-corrupted whelps who were _in him,_ a part of him– even more. He felt every grain of truth to which he had clung flying away like sand in a storm, and it only left rage, unbridled, revolted rage, in its wake. 

The lump in his throat yielded to dragonfire; the bitter taste of cinders rose to the back of his tongue. “And what of the red?” He snapped, rising to his feet. “What did you do to him?”

“He...” There was a long pause. Wrathion felt as if the world around him had frozen in place.

“He attacked us, and got away. We pursued him, but by the time he reached the Vermillion Redoubt we knew we had no chance of killing him.”

Any small sense of vengeance he would have gotten out of hearing about the red drake’s suffering slipped between his fingers. He could only clutch them at his sides and stomp towards the opposite end of the room, fighting to keep down the fire rising in his mouth. He wanted to know the drake had been ripped limb from limb, like he was, every night in his dreams; he wanted to hear that at least this time a red dragon had been held accountable for what they had done. But no, he had flown back to his brood, victorious, _everyone’s hero_ once again, and Wrathion was left here with the shame, disgust, horror, and hatred he was forced to shoulder just by existing. 

“So you just _let him fly away_? You let him go home?” What was meant to sound menacing came out as a cry, and Wrathion scrambled to mask it with a smoke-filled snort. 

“We tried to kill him, your Highness. He flew faster than us. We–”

“Failed. Utterly failed.” He wasn’t sure if the insult was directed at his agents or at himself, but he was grateful, at least, for a target at which to direct his loathing. “He will tell the others what you’ve done. It won’t be long before the red dragons start showing up on our doorstep and I’m the one who will have to deal with it! They will ruin us, ruin me,” _even more than they already have_ , “and our entire operation here will fall apart! Don’t you see?”

Every subsequent realization came like a weight driving his stomach further and further into the pit of his chest. His heart hammered: he could feel it in his fingers, his head, pumping blood through a body he wasn’t even sure he could rightfully call his own. If the reds started an open campaign against him, the rest of the world would follow. There weren’t enough words in the world to turn the people of Azeroth against the Red Dragonflight. He would be hunted, killed, or, even worse, become a slave to his creators. He couldn’t handle it. He snapped.

Flinging a pot of tea onto the floor with a crash, he whirled around, hissing at his agents as fire escaped his lips. “Get out of here! Kill that drake, if it’s the last thing you do.” He stomped over to the counter, throwing a stack of plates in their direction. Rage boiled over, and he couldn’t see straight. “Kill every red dragon you see, for all I care! Mount their heads on spikes like the mortals have done to my family for generations. Let everyone see them for what they are– monsters, just like my brother Nefarian and his basement full of experiments. Find that drake and bring me his head, do you hear me?”

“We...” Bria glanced over at Right, who kept her lips pursed in an unyielding stare.

“Your Highness...” Reade added, rising from his seat. “Perhaps we...”

“No, no perhaps. Do it. Go. Get out of here: I don’t want to look at you until you have that drake head in your hands. Do I make myself clear?”

Bria joined Reade, bowing deeply. “Yes, your Highness. We will find the drake.”

“Go.” His entire body shook with rage. He needed them out of here before the last vestiges of his facade crumbled. “And not a word of this to any of the other agents. I mean it. I will not have this information getting out, even among the Blacktalon,” he faltered, clutching the baluster at the bottom of the stairs for support. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, your Highness.” 

He dug his nails into the wood beneath them, waiting until his agents turned away to bury his head against the railing. His turban slipped down onto his forehead, but he didn’t care; he heaved, struggling to catch his breath through gasps filled with sobs that never came. His shoulders shook; he was too caught up in his own pain to hear the faint knock of crutches moving across the floor.

Suddenly, a hand was at his back. He jumped, jerking away instinctively. “What?”

“Wrathion...” It was Anduin. Of course it was. Great, just what he needed: the one person who seemed to enjoy his company finding out what a monster he really was. 

“How much did you hear?”

“I’m sorry...I probably should have come in sooner. I–”

“Did you hear about my origins? Did you hear what they did to me?” He felt like he was defending himself to the human, knowing that, if he had overheard his threats against the reds, he was likely already seeing him as some kind of villain. It wouldn’t be long until he abandoned him as swiftly as he had come. 

But Anduin stayed in place, sliding his hand beneath his pauldron and rubbing gently. “I heard how you were created, yes...I didn’t mean to listen, I swear! I just–” 

“So, what?” He whirled around; Anduin stumbled backwards. He hated himself for the angry words tumbling from his lips, but he couldn’t stop them, spurred on as they were by the fire of his own wrath. “So, are you going to put this in a letter and send it back to your friends at Lion’s Landing? Will you call me a monster, or will you try to dress it up with the niceties you seem to love so much?”

“Wrathion!” His wide eyes were all the confirmation he needed to know that his initial suspicions about Anduin’s arrival had been correct. But there was something else on those soft, pale lips that gave the dragon pause; a frown, the barest tremble of a cry, and a look of unrestrained empathy that made Wrathion weak in the knees. 

The human spoke again, steadying himself on his crutches and reaching a hand to the dragon’s cheek. “Wrathion, I would _never_ tell them something like this. At first I came to see if you were a threat to the Alliance, but...I care about you, Wrathion. Light, I would never break trust with you like that.”

Wrathion struggled to relax under the human’s touch. As soft as his skin felt pressed against his cheek, it was hard to let go of the anger, suspicion, and disgust that burned just beneath his skin. But he tried. Closing his eyes, he forced the fire back into the glands at the base of his throat. He drew in a long, shaky breath. 

“Wrathion?”

“...what?”

“You aren’t a monster.” 

_But I am, my dear prince. I am a lab experiment, a composite creature without selfhood or coherence. My ancestry is a nightmare, and I barely know who I am. If that’s not monstrosity, I don’t know what is._

“Or, I mean,” it was as if Anduin could read his thoughts, again, “I mean I know how you were created, and I don’t want to act like that isn’t a big deal. I know you’re really struggling to figure out who you are, and how to see yourself. But I just want to say that, to me, you’re a good friend, and I like you how you are, no matter how you were made...” Their eyes met, and Anduin took a step closer. “I’m rambling now. I’m sorry. I just...if you’re upset or confused, I–”

Wrathion bit his lip; he could barely look at Anduin’s face, as pained as it was with lines of worry for _him,_ whoever he even was. He didn’t know what to say.

“What the red dragons did was horrible, but still, I’m just...really glad you’re alive, and free.”

Staring down at his feet, he took a step forward, allowing himself to be ushered into Anduin’s arms. “I don’t need you to coddle me, dear prince,” he muttered, though the pang in his heart said differently. “You are free to tell them whatever you want. I...shouldn’t have tried to control you like that.”

“But I won’t,” Anduin sighed. Shifting so he leaned on one crutch, he wrapped his other arm around Wrathion’s shoulder and straightened his turban. “I don’t want to. They don’t need to know.”

Offering a tiny nod, the dragon finally gave in to the other man’s warmth, resting his chin against the silk of his bathrobe and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, his gaze fell on the floor behind Anduin’s back. Broken porcelain littered the ground, and a puddle of tea spread like a wing across the rug beneath them. And Anduin had likely seen it all– yet here he was, holding him and nuzzling him, telling him he was glad he was alive. He couldn’t say he understood, but, no matter how much he claimed that Anduin shouldn’t trust him or get too close, this time, he was thankful. 

Lost in the softness of the human’s embrace, he barely heard the words he murmured against his ear. “My guards will be returning soon...if you want to go upstairs...”

“I–” _want nothing more than that, dear prince,_ he opened his mouth to say, but his voice came out too tired to sound suave. “’d like that.”

The human brightened, giving the back of his neck a simple pat. “All right, just let me figure out something to distract them, and I’ll meet you upstairs in a minute, okay?” Wrathion nodded, and Anduin held him at arm’s length. His smile was warm with the bright energy he had come to appreciate their time together; the lump in his throat subsided, and he even managed a faint, though difficult, smile of his own. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll be there.” And a noise out on the porch was all the prompting he needed. He transformed into his true form, flying up over the railing, and into the prince’s bedroom. His bed had mostly been stripped (well, that explained how he had convinced his guards to leave this morning), but a few unsoiled blankets and other things remained in a pile beneath the headboard. He landed, burying his small face against the mattress, just grateful for a moment of privacy. His chest rose and fell with a weighty exhale. He squirmed; his claws scratched the fabric beneath him.

He heard the steady ‘thump-thump’ of Anduin’s crutches on the stairs, but he couldn’t find the strength to lift his head in greeting. It wasn’t until a hand closed around his back and started rubbing him behind the horns that he acknowledged the other man’s return. He sighed; the sound rumbled in his chest beneath Anduin’s palm. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” Anduin admitted. A tiny laugh fluttered through the air, and the mattress beneath him dipped as the human lowered himself down beside him. 

“I’m not your pet, Prince Anduin,” he teased, and for a fleeting moment, he felt like his old self again.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” the human chuckled, his tone playful. “I _have_ been cleaning up after you a lot lately.” As if on cue, the clatter of porcelain being swept downstairs echoed through the room. He must have flinched, because Anduin’s voice turned comforting. “You’re allowed to be upset, Wrathion. It’s perfectly natural. We all have our ways of dealing with it...”

He worked his hand from the back of Wrathion’s head down the curve of his spine, stroking the crest between his wings and the soft flap of flesh tucked beneath them. No one had ever touched him like this, with fingers so gentle against his developing scales. Letting his eyes slide closed, he sighed; the sound hummed in his throat. Anduin curled up around him, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his snout. 

They lay like this for several minutes, completely silent. Wrathion shifted slightly so he was curled up against the other man’s chest, nestled under the hand that stroked idly across the top of his head. He knew he should have felt embarrassed–any other day, he definitely would have yanked away and chided Anduin for treating him so delicately– but right now he couldn’t bring himself to leave. 

Under Anduin’s touch he felt the tension in his neck slowly melting away. His gentle fingers said what both of them were too embarrassed to admit, and he clung to that tenderness, relaxing beneath it, chasing the troubled thoughts away from his mind. He exhaled slowly. Anduin nuzzled his back. 

“I’m going to change into my human form now.” He finally broke the silence, not wanting Anduin to start seeing him as _too_ childish.

The human scooted over slightly, but kept his hand in place. “Hmm? Okay, that’s fine.” Wrathion shifted beneath his touch, changing so his hand pressed against the thick waves of hair at the back of his head and his arm draped over his shoulder. “You’re cuter as a whelp, but this is nice, too,” he winked, before pressing their mouths together in a gentle kiss. 

Wrathion’s lips parted instinctively as he felt Anduin’s tongue flick out to trace along the crease. His movements were gentle, subtle: he barely dipped between them before pulling back to gaze at his face. A look of affection passed across his features; Wrathion squeezed his eyes closed as blood rushed to his cheeks. Trust Anduin to get so sentimental so quickly, and yet, there was part of Wrathion that cherished it, clung to it, even after he could no longer see it.

A tiny sigh escaped him as he felt Anduin’s mouth move lower. His kisses were warm and soft, pressing first against his chin, and then the side of his jaw, and then moving down along a tendon in his neck. The human’s hands cupped his cheeks; he worried he could feel the heat of his blush beneath them. But, seemingly undeterred by his embarrassment, they slid up to ruffle his hair, pressing the waves away from his ears so his mouth could move to suck on his earlobe. Wrathion squirmed; his blush only deepened as Anduin murmured appreciatively against his skin.

One of his hands left his cheek. Wrathion cracked an eye open, resting against the side of Anduin’s head as he watched his fingers travel down to unbutton his shirt. He unhooked the first clasp and then tried to reach around him to unhook the dragonscale collar. Taking the hint, Wrathion conjured it away, leaving only the silk undershirt and pants he wore beneath. He thought to remove the shirt entirely, but he wasn’t sure– well, he’d just let Anduin make that decision on his own.

The human gasped as he felt the armor disappear beneath his touch, propping himself up on his elbow to regard him with an astonished grin. “Well, that’s certainly convenient.” He kissed the tip of Wrathion’s nose. 

He tried his best to look less flustered than he felt. “The perks of being with a dragon, I suppose.”

“Well, one of many perks,” Anduin giggled. His lips, still alive with the quiver of his laughter, dropped down to kiss his throat. 

The hand on his shirt was almost halfway down his chest. Every button exposed more skin to the warm air between them, and every few moments Anduin would stop to stroke his thumb against it. Wrathion squirmed when it dipped down to flick lightly at his nipple; his back arced into his touch, caught between the desire to beg for more and the overwhelming impulse to bury his face in Anduin’s hair. He did a bit of both, pressing his mouth against the other man’s forehead to muffle his cry. The human slid down to kiss lightly at his collarbone. 

It wasn’t until Anduin unhooked the final button that Wrathion obliged and made the fabric around him disappear. His heart caught in his throat as he waited for Anduin’s response. He never let anyone see him entirely unclothed. Lightly muscled and mostly flat on the top, he knew that some mortals might accuse him of not “matching” what he had below. His stomach clenched as the sudden realization of _why that might be_ came washing over him; Anduin must have felt him flinch, because he looked up from the middle of his chest to offer a smile. 

“I take back what I said,” he giggled, rubbing his nose through a thin patch of chest hair. “I definitely prefer you like this.”

The sudden wave of nausea that had hit him started to recede, and he did his best to focus on the wet lips moving down over the lines of his abdomen. Anduin had slid his body down the bed so he could nestle himself between his legs, and now was taking his time trailing kisses from his navel to the top of his pants. The light caress of his tongue was enough to make Wrathion’s hips give a sudden jolt; Anduin’s palm dropped between his legs, his finger rubbing him through the thin fabric of his pants. “So, I had a few... _ideas_ this morning in the bath.” Seductive words came out sounding a bit more timid than he had probably intended. 

Wrathion arched an eyebrow. “The Prince of Stormwind was out thinking dirty thoughts in the public bath? How undigni–” A gasp cut through his smirk as Anduin’s finger grazed over the sensitive nub between his lips. He pressed back against the headboard, letting out a sharp exhale.

“Mh,” Anduin nodded, a self-satisfied glimmer in his eye. “Please take off your pants so I can show you?” The request ended like a question, and Anduin waited until Wrathion nodded before rubbing his hand against him again.

Well, this was it.

Wrathion made the fabric vanish beneath Anduin’s touch, waiting for some look of surprise or hesitation (or something worse, but the dragon couldn’t bear to think about that) to cross his face, but he merely kept smiling. He kissed lightly at the outside of his lips before dipping his tongue down to trace between them. Oh, so this is what he had in mind. A little flustered, Wrathion turned his head to the side and tried his best to relax under the wet touch between his legs.

But then Anduin did something Wrathion had not anticipated; wrapping his lips around his swollen nub, he gave it a small suck, looking up at him with curious eyes. A jolt sparked beneath his mouth. Wrathion rocked forward, squeezing his eyes closed. “O-oh–” was all he could manage between gasps. 

“Good?” Anduin lifted up to murmur. Wrathion nodded emphatically.

Returning his lips to Wrathion’s cock– well, that’s what he preferred to call it, anyways– Anduin continued to suck, pressing his palm against the other man’s hip for leverage. Wrathion’s clawed fingers slipped into his hair and pushed back a few stray locks. The human increased the pressure, causing Wrathion’s legs to quiver around his shoulders. Every exhale tickled the hair in front of him, and the dragon could only gasp and squirm, throwing back his head as the pressure started welling up. 

Anduin darted the very tip of his tongue against the head, and Wrathion moaned. With every touch came another jolt, and he could barely keep his thighs still. It became impossible to focus on anything except the warm tightness reaching from Anduin’s lips to somewhere deep inside of him, and he clutched the human’s hair unexpectedly as another tremor overtook him. The gasp that escaped the human’s lips vibrated on his skin. His entire body tingled, the sparks racing up his quivering thighs; his vision blurred, and, with a cry, he gave in to the flood of pleasure overtaking him. He slammed his head against the pillow; his muscles tensed, and, for a moment, all he could feel was the heat being sucked away by Anduin’s mouth.

Finally getting control of his breath, he peeked down at the other man, offering him a grateful smile. “That...” He managed to gasp, cupping Anduin’s cheek with his palm. They watched each other for a long moment, the human with his ear resting against his thigh and Wrathion staring down over the rise and fall of his chest. A feeling a sheer contentment filled him from within, and, with a sigh, he felt all of his earlier fears start to melt away. 

But their happy pause lasted only a few moments. Suddenly aware that Anduin was shifting back on one knee to reposition himself, Wrathion realized, with a start, that he had been putting pressure on his injured leg. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He didn’t want him to be in pain. Sliding his hands under Anduin’s arms, he gave him a pointed tug, guiding him until he was lying on his side beside him. He immediately draped his leg over Anduin’s thigh and held him close for another kiss. 

He could taste himself on Anduin’s lips, flicking his tongue across them to clean up the mess he had made. His other hand worked into the human’s bathrobe, nudging it away with his wrist, giving him better access to the soft skin underneath. He helped him shrug it off, reaching down and undoing the belt so that he could drop his hand from his chest to his hip. Anduin was already partially hard, and a few thrusts was all he needed to get the blood rushing between his legs. The human buried his face against his neck; Wrathion nipped lightly at the top of his ear. 

Wanting to see Anduin reduced to the same quivering mess he had found himself in moments before, he rubbed against him pointedly. They moved together, and Wrathion felt another jolt between his legs when his shaft passed between his lower lips. Well, that was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. He grasped him and guided him in the same rocking motion, creating friction between them that brought a sigh to Anduin’s lips. He grasped the other side of his shaft to increase the pressure. He pushed his foreskin up and back over his head, letting Anduin set the pace with his shallow thrusts against the dragon’s lower abdomen.

“Hm, I wonder how I can top your previous performance, my dear prince,” he purred into his hair, giving his ear another bite. Anduin shuddered; Wrathion quickened his pace, turning his sigh into a gasp. “I think I have a plan of my own, but I am going to need your cooperation.”

He felt Anduin’s cock give an involuntary twitch against the hair of his lower abdomen; obviously his commanding tone was having the desired effect. “Touch yourself for me, dear prince.”

Anduin did as he was told– though not without a small groan of dissatisfaction when Wrathion withdrew his palm from his shaft– and closed his fingers around the base of his erection. He thrust forward; Wrathion took a moment to note the pace he set for himself and the way he smeared the juice that leaked from his slit with the pad of his thumb. This information would certainly prove useful later, but for now, he had other plans for the trembling prince beside him. 

Reaching around his thigh and rubbing lightly between his lips a few times, he felt the tips getting wet with the remnants of his own juices. He withdrew them, glistening, and watched Anduin’s face as his hand reached around and gave his backside a gentle squeeze. The human gasped but didn’t retract, instead jerking forward with enough pressure to send a spark between Wrathion’s legs, as well. Encouraged, the dragon dipped down and carefully rubbed the tip of his finger against the human’s opening. 

“L-Light!” He stuttered. A shiver raced from his shoulders to the base of his spine.

Wrathion raised his eyebrows. “Too much?”

“Light no, W-Wrathion...” He felt his knuckles bumping against his navel as he quickened the pace of his pumps. “Please...inside...”

“Oh, dear Anduin. It’s _my_ turn to decide what we do. How uncouth it is to beg.”

But his indignation was a ruse, and he, wanting nothing more than to hear the human moaning his name once again, pressed his finger carefully through the tight ring beneath it. Mindful of his claw, he gave a small, wary thrust before pulling back and rubbing against the outside once again. Anduin quivered; he could feel his cock leaking against his abdomen.

“Again?” He teased, already knowing the answer.

“It’s _your turn_ , remember? I know how you–ah–hate losing your turn.”

The laughter faded away into a groan as Wrathion sank down into him again, going deeper this time, rubbing the unclawed underside of his finger against his inner wall. Anduin trembled; the hand on his erection stilled as a twitch from inside overtook him. The dragon rubbed pointedly, feeling the soft skin of his sac brushing against the inside of his leg. Carefully, he fell into pace with the other man’s thrusts, sinking his teeth into his shoulder as another gasp overtook him.

He thrust his finger in again, knowing that if he just found a certain spot...but all the “Steamy Romance Novels” in the world weren’t enough to guide him to it. Anduin seemed to be enjoying himself, anyways, his breath tickling Wrathion’s cheek as he shuddered and sighed against him. They pressed together; his heart hammered against the dragon’s skin. He could tell he was getting close. 

Lifting up slightly and working his bottom arm free from beneath them, he reached over, closing it around Anduin’s shaft and joining his fingers in their ascent. He pumped one last time, and Anduin’s hips gave a sudden jerk. With a sharp exhale, he pulled back, and, with another thrust up against his abdomen, released in a series of short splatters. His come was warm as it dripped over Wrathion’s stomach and onto the mattress, still bare after last night’s activities, in the small gap between them. Withdrawing his finger from inside him, he nudged Anduin closer, sliding that hand up his back and guiding him into his arms.

But, it seemed, Anduin wasn’t finished, or, at least, he still had plans for Wrathion. He wiped his hand clean on the bed and slipped it down between his legs, rubbing into the space where his cock just had been. He passed over the flushed nub, and Wrathion jerked forward; he hadn’t realized how worked up he had gotten until he felt the pads of those soft fingers press against his skin.

It only took a few more rubs, and he could feel the tension mounting between his legs. He thrust desperately into his touch; his legs quivered, and he felt a sudden spark explode within his body. Anduin kept moving; he could feel him smiling even though he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open. He came– muscles tightening, then relaxing– and melted into Anduin’s arms: a loss of self, but this time, a welcome one.

Collapsing against the human’s chest with a loud gasp, he nuzzled his collarbone, his shoulder, planting kisses on every inch of skin he could reach. He felt him reaching around to stroke his hair, and at once the feeling of safeness he had experienced earlier returned. But this time something had changed; he touched him not as a pet but as an equal: a lover, a friend, someone who accepted him and valued their time together. He could barely believe what he sensed there, but clung to it all of the same. 

“And now...we’re even,” he dimly heard the human tease. Wrathion kept his face hidden, too worried he might notice the vulnerable look in his eyes.

 

“...What?”

“Even. You know, _even_.”

He peeked up him with a wary glance. “It isn’t a competition, Prince Anduin.” 

“Coming from you?” He felt Anduin’s laugh ruffle the tousled hair hanging over his forehead. “Frankly, I’m shocked.”

“But on the other hand, I might actually _let_ you win this game.”

Anduin giggled; the sound hummed lightly at the base of his throat. Wrathion closed his eyes and let it lull him into peaceful doze.

______________________________

By the time Anduin made it downstairs the main hall was completely deserted save for Wrathion’s bodyguards. The plates he had sent Sandra and Michael to buy in Binan sat stacked atop a table in the corner, and a pot of soup simmered on the stove. But Tong was nowhere to be found, and not a single champion visited the tavern this evening. As much as Anduin wasn’t sure how he felt about Wrathion’s involvement with the champions, he hoped there hadn’t been another “episode” like the one that had caused the dragon so much grief.

He had been with his healer all day: the pandaren had showed up a little before noon and had spent the next few hours stimulating points on his leg with pressure and pins. He knew that Wrathion probably would have found the entire scenario _fascinating_ , as he so often said, but Anduin had been reluctant to let the dragon see him like that, twitching and in pain, praying silently for answers. But, after the healer burned a cloth over his calf and used healing waters to clear away an “obstruction,” as he had called it, Anduin had started to notice a change. He had flexed his foot; he had even managed to put some weight on his ankle when he stood up. 

And now, he wanted nothing more than to show his friend. He had traded his two crutches for one, making it much easier for him to travel down the stairs and head towards the door. He might even make it up to Mason’s Folly today, if that’s where the dragon was, though he still felt exhausted from his treatment and hoped he would find Wrathion before it came to that. They could share the view at Mason’s Folly another day, though, and the thought filled Anduin’s chest with hope like he hadn’t felt since the incident with the bell. He still had many months of recovery ahead of him, but the leap he had made today was a triumph all the same.

Upon arriving at the threshold, however, he soon discovered why the inn was completely deserted. A blanket of snow spread across the Stair, shifting and rolling with the gusts of wind coming up from the south. Icicles hung from every corner of the roof. He was suddenly aware of the ‘scrape’ of shoveling happening back near the bath, guessing that it was probably his own guards who had taken to doing the work. He glanced around; he directed a silent prayer to the Light that his healer had made it home without incident.

Leaning out to the left, he noticed a lone figure standing at the end of the porch, sipping tea from a mug cupped between his gloved hands. There he was. A smile crossed his lips. “Hey, Wrathion! When did this happen?”

“When you were upstairs being poked full of holes,” Wrathion teased, turning to face him. A thin dusting of snow clung to the top of his turban. “The storms come quickly up here. You learn to get used to it.”

“I want to show you something. I’m coming out, okay?”

“Just a minute, my dear prince,” he gestured down at a thick patch of ice before the door. Anduin hadn’t even noticed it. He was thankful the dragon had been so attentive. “We simply couldn’t have you falling again, after everything. Here, let me take care of it.”

His dramatic words were no match for what he did to follow them up. Before Anduin could register what was about to happen, he aimed a fireball at the ground in front of him and melted away the ice. Pulling his flame backwards, he blazed a crevice between drifts of snow, leaving the ground beneath it moist but unobstructed. Anduin chuckled. “Well, that’s super convenient.”

And yet the dragon had left his attendants and Tong to clean up the mess out back. How typical. Anduin couldn’t stop laughing. 

Seeming to wonder why Anduin found his actions so funny, Wrathion tilted his head and regarded him with a stare. The steam from his cup curled and danced in the air in front of him. “It is truly magnificent out here, though, is it not? The snow on these cliffs looks spectacular, and wait until you see the frozen waterfall up the pass behind us. Truly stunning!”

“I thought black dragons were supposed to prefer hot climates.” He arrived beside him, instantly feeling the chill in the wind through his thin cloth tunic. He leaned over until their shoulders touched; heat seemed to radiate from the dragon’s skin, and he let it guide him closer. “I once read that the Obsidian Dragonshrine–” 

“Yes, well, we’re adaptable. We’re dragons. What do you expect?”

Suddenly realizing that Wrathion had likely never visited any of the places once controlled by the Black Dragonflight, and probably wouldn’t go even if he had the opportunity, Anduin hoped he hadn’t misspoken. But Wrathion seemed unoffended. He reached around his crutched arm and rested his free hand against the small of Anduin’s back. “It won’t be long before we start decorating for this _Winter Veil_ you people celebrate. It should look festive, if the snow keeps falling.”

“It will! It looks even more beautiful when the light reflects off the ice. You’ll like it, I’m sure.” He glanced to his right, before leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss against Wrathion’s cheek. “Oh, but first we’ll have Pilgrim’s Bounty. I might even be able to bring food from Stormwind for us to share. It’s my favorite.”

Wrathion raised an eyebrow at the mention of “bringing” anything to the inn, but kept his questions to himself. Anduin quickly realized what was going on, and added for clarification: “That’s what I wanted to show you. The treatment went...really well today. Here.” He nudged off his cloth boot so Wrathion could see, too proud of the way he could flex and unflex his foot to notice the chill washing over it. 

But Wrathion shook his head. “My dear prince, you’re going to lose a toe if you go barefoot in the snow. Show me inside.”

A flush rose to his cheeks, clearing away the numbness he hadn’t realized was there. “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess it is cold. I was just excited.”

The dragon frowned, but managed to keep his voice steady and amiable. “I’m glad your treatment has gone well. I trust you will be leaving soon, then?”

Oh. So that’s what this was really about: he wanted to know how much longer Anduin would be staying, though he was trying his best to be polite about it. He let out a small sigh, nuzzling his cheek with his forehead. “Well, father wants me to attend a meeting in the Shrine next week, but I’ll probably come back and stay for a while after that so I can keep my leg ‘warm and active.’ That’s what the healer told me to do, anyways.”

“And after that?”

“After that I’ll probably have to return to Lion’s Landing, at least for a time. But Wrathion, I swear I’ll come visit. I’m not going to just...disappear...or stop talking to you. Not after everything...”

“You don’t need to explain it to me, dear prince. You are your own person and are free to come and go as you please.” At first Anduin thought the quip had been made in sarcasm, but soon realized that, to his surprise, Wrathion was being serious. His face was a mix of emotions, but the response he gave, so carefully calm, was an honest one. Anduin smiled broadly; for once, someone wasn’t trying to tell him where to go and what to do. He liked it. It made him feel safe. 

Leaning against his crutch, Anduin stretched out his other hand and slid his fingers over the crest of Wrathion’s cheek. The dragon trembled; Anduin pressed their lips together, closing the space between them. It was a quick, wary kiss, but he hoped that, in it, Wrathion could feel all the gratitude, care, and hope for the future that Anduin couldn’t quite piece into words. He held him close, savoring the warmth of his arms around his waist and the beauty of the snow drifting to earth behind him. He would remember this moment, he told himself, no matter how much distance his obligations put between them.

“Plus, you know,” he finally murmured, breaking the kiss to rest his head on Wrathion’s shoulder. “With me walking again, that only means I’ll have more chances to sneak out and stop by, with no guards to, uh, make things difficult.”

Wrathion’s chest rose and fell as a small snicker escaped his throat. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t complain about that. I think we’d find ways to... occupy ourselves.”

“And besides, the game is still on.”

The dragon chuckled; his breath ruffled through Anduin’s hair, melting a few stray flakes of snow that clung to its tips. He gave him a squeeze. 

“Yes, of course. The game is still on.”


End file.
